One Lucky Cowboy (6 page)

   Nellie and Ellen both stopped eating and waited.

   "You are wrong and I'll prove it."

   "How? By asking her to marry you so you can spend the rest of your life trying to fix her mess? Go right on ahead and do it. Cut off your nose to spite your face. Now if you'll send the biscuits to this end of the table, I would appreciate it," Jane said.

   He passed the bread basket and then the gravy and watched her routine. One biscuit cut open and covered with sausage gravy. One cut open and filled with butter, then with a fine sprinkling of sugar and black pepper when she got ready to eat it. It was the very same every morning without change.

   "Thank you," she said.

   "I'm not ready to get married and if I were it wouldn't be because you goaded me into it with your smartass remarks," he said.

   "Don't call me a smartass. That would be the pot calling the kettle black," she said.

   "Hey, anyone who puts sugar and pepper on their biscuit instead of honey or jelly has to be a smartass or a dumb ass. You choose."

   "My grandmother came through the depression. She learned all kinds of tricks. One is sweetening the breakfast biscuits with sugar and pepper. Don't knock it until you've tried it."

   He opened the biscuit he'd already buttered and followed her lead, expecting to gag on such a concoction. Surprisingly, it wasn't half bad. Couldn't hold a candle to homemade plum jam, but it wasn't disgusting.

   "So?" she asked.

   "I'm adult enough to admit that it might have worked during the depression, just like all kinds of substitutes for coffee did during the Civil War, but if there's jelly I wouldn't use it," he said.

   "Fair enough. Now what's on our agenda today, ladies?" she asked Nellie and Ellen.

   "We're going to cook dinner like always. Fried chicken and the works. Then afterwards I've got a doctor's appointment in Nocona and while we're going that way, we thought maybe you'd drive us on over to Gainesville to the outlet mall so we could do a little shopping. Ellen doesn't have nearly enough clothes," Nellie rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

   Ellen put up her hands. "One of my three weaknesses. Clothing. Good-looking men. Fast cars."

   Slade rolled his eyes. "You are both—"

   "Old women? Of course we're old, son. But we ain't dead. When I die I'm going to slide into heaven on Nellie's coattails a-screamin', 'open the doors and let me in. I've used up every bit of my strength livin' and lovin' every minute of it.' And I'll go out knowin' I didn't waste a single minute. I'm going to wear fancy clothes and chase men right up until they put me six feet under. I'd drive fast cars, but you know that story."

   Nellie finished breakfast and sipped at the last of her coffee. "Lord, yes, I know that story."

   "Don't we all," Slade said, glad to be in on an inside story that Jane had no part of.

   "I don't," Jane said.

   "You tell her, Slade, while we wash up the dishes. Go on with him out to the barn and he'll tell you all about his wild aunt. We'll get the potatoes peeled for potato salad, and you can make it when you get back," Nellie said.

   Ellen pushed back a strand of dyed red hair, the gray roots beginning to show, and grinned at Jane. "I'm not wild. I just don't let inhibitions rob me of life. You two get on out of here. Enjoy a little free time. Watch Slade do some work. Maybe he'll even let you ride one of those horses. Of course, I'd rather drive a Corvette down a Texas highway. And don't worry about dinner fixin's. I can cook as well as I can drink and honey, that's damn good."

   "Jane can't ride," Slade said.

   Jane looked right at him. "Want to place a side bet on that?"

   "Twenty dollars says you can't saddle up a horse. Fifty says you'll be begging to be taken back to the bus station by noon if you ride all morning. I'm riding fence today to make sure everything is still tight. You really want to bet with me?"

   "You're on if the ladies can put dinner on the table by themselves," she said.

   "Oh, honey, we work together in a kitchen just fine. You run along and ride the fence with Slade. Just don't either one of you kill the other," Ellen said.

   He combed his blond hair back out of his eyes with his fingertips and picked a straw hat from the hooks beside the back door. He motioned toward the others. "Take your pick. You'll burn without a hat."

   "Mine is the old weathered one with a red bandana hatband," Nellie said. "You are welcome to it."

   Jane settled it on her head and followed him out the back door. It had been months since she'd ridden, but she was no stranger to it.

   When she was eighteen she'd gone away to college. For the next five years she'd studied hard, partied a little, loved a few good men. Then she came home and went to work at the oil company. Paul had an apartment on the top floor of the building, so he seldom came home to the ranch. She drove ten miles to work in the morning, put in a twelve-hour-plus day, and drove home. There was little time except on Sundays for riding and she seldom visited the stables, so it had been a while, but by golly she could still saddle a horse and ride all morning.

   "Molly or Demon?" he asked when they reached the horse barn.

   "Names any indication of what they'll do?"

   "Molly is mean as sin. Demon is a bucker. I intend to win the bet."

   "Who are you riding?"

   "Oh, no, you can't have Blister. He's been my horse for ten years. I don't share."

"Didn't ask you to share. I'll take Demon."

   He nodded toward a saddle and she was scarcely less than a minute behind him in the unspoken race.

   "I guess you have saddled up a few times, but I still don't think you can keep up with me all morning. If I'd thought of this before, you'd already be on your way to Wichita Falls," he said begrudgingly.

   "Twenty down. Fifty to go. I need the seventy dollars. I'll stay with you and I don't whine. Hell couldn't keep my ass from sticking to this horse until dinnertime."

   They had barely cleared the barn doors when Demon reared up on his hind feet and tried to toss the weight on his back across the county line. Jane was not prepared for it but she hung on until he came back down, reined in tight, and leaned down to talk to the animal.

   "If you do that again, you sorry bastard, I'll shoot you between the eyes and feed your carcass to the coyotes. That is a fact, not a threat, so you
will
behave."

   "Think you are a horse whisperer, do you?"

   "Not me. He almost bucked me over the house. I'm surprised I could even hang on. I should have listened to you and ridden Molly."

   That took him aback but he kept his silence.

   "So you are supposed to tell me this big story. That's the whole reason I'm here and not in the kitchen," she said.

   "What kind of job did you have last?" he asked.

   "What do you think?"

   "I think you were a cook in a restaurant. Not a burger joint but maybe Cracker Barrel or Applebee's. If you were a rich person you wouldn't be here doing this kind of work for less than minimum wage. You're poor and you are running from something or someone. How old are you, anyway?"

   "How old do you think I am?"

   "Nineteen on a good day. Twenty on a bad one."

   "Thank you. Do I really look that young?"

   "If you are a day over twenty-one and can prove it, I'll double our bet," he said.

   "I'm twenty-four and that's admitting a lot. Ladies don't usually tell their age. We are allowed to lie about our age by five years and our weight by twenty pounds without going to hell. And I don't have to prove shit to you, so we'll keep the bet where it stands."

   He actually chuckled. "Aunt Ellen would say the age by twenty years and the weight was nobody's damn business."

   "She's a good woman. Now tell me this story about why she doesn't drive."

   He sat the saddle well—tall and handsome. His blond hair curled up on his shirt collar and covered half his ears. His blue eyes were shaded beneath the hat but Jane had no illusions that they would be looking at her nicely. No sir, if she could see them, they would be shooting darts at her main arteries.

   She couldn't imagine John riding a horse. Not in his custom-made, Italian silk suits. She sure couldn't see him in scuffed up old cowboy boots or spurs. Or her stepfather, either. They were cut from the same mold. If Slade wanted to see con men up close and personal, he should meet those two.

   Jane's mother, Susan, had been the ultimate rancher. They'd lived in town until her paternal grandparents had died and left them the horse ranch. Her father had hated ranching and loved the oil business, but Susan had found her soul on the ranch. She was the one who'd dressed in faded jeans and scuffed up cowboy boots. She was the one who'd taught Jane everything from the ground up. She'd always said that someday Jane might find herself in a situation where she'd need to know how to do things for herself and not depend on anyone else. Until that moment, Jane hadn't realized that her mother was a prophet.

   "So?" she finally prompted.

   "Okay, about five years ago Aunt Ellen had a boyfriend. One of a long line of many boyfriends. She's somewhere around sixty-nine now—no one knows exactly how old she really is. She's even made Granny promise to lie on her obit when she dies. Her feller drove this vintage 1964 Corvette. She loves 'Vettes and speed in a convertible is the most wonderful thing in the world to her. She used to own an old Caddy and she'd drive it like a bat set loose from the bowels of hell. She'd get a wild hair in her under britches and here she'd come to our house to visit. It was always a party for me, because she was so unpredictable. She and that old Caddy might take me and Granny to Six Flags or over to Wichita Falls to a hockey game. One thing for sure, she never sat still or drove slow. Only trouble was, she likes her booze almost as well as fast cars and good-looking gentlemen. She got caught one damn time too many out drinking and driving under the influence and they took her license away for good."

   "That can't be the whole story."

   "No, remember now she's with her feller in his car. A vintage 'Vette. He gets out at a service station to go to the men's room and Aunt Ellen, who has done a major amount of damage to a fifth of Jack Daniels whiskey, decides to pull a practical joke on him and drive away. She got about half a mile down the road when she lost control on a patch of gravel. It threw her out and they had to peel the car from around a tree."

   Jane laughed aloud. "Please tell me she wasn't hurt."

   "Not even a broken bone. Wouldn't have even messed up her makeup if she hadn't landed in a cattle pond. She came up sputtering and spitting filthy water and cussin' about getting mud and cow manure on her new boots. The owner of the car had called the police and reported his vehicle stolen and his girlfriend kidnapped. When they arrived a few minutes later, she was sitting beside the car with what was left of the bottle of Jack in her hands. She did offer them a drink for coming to her aid."

   Jane laughed even harder.

   "It wasn't so funny back then. She was drunk and had no driver's license. She spent the night in the county jail and called Granny when they let her get to a phone. Granny paid the fines, for the car and the whole shebang. Ellen was hungover but she found the energy to flirt with the judge. She still bitches because he never called her, even though she left her phone number on the table right in front of him. So now she has to rely on busses or taxis. When she comes over here, I take them wherever they want to go."

   "Why doesn't she just move here?"

   "Because the men aren't as plentiful."

   Jane got another case of giggles and a severe bout of hiccups. Slade passed a canteen full of water to her. "Ten sips without taking a breath."

   "Sounds like my grandmother's advice."

"What was her name?"

   She'd gotten so relaxed that she almost spit it out before she clamped her mouth shut. One minute in front of the computer and he'd have enough information about her family to cause a major catastrophe.

   "Guess," she said.

   "One thing I know is it wasn't or isn't Day. That's not your real name any more than Jane is. A couple of times it's taken you too long to respond when someone calls your name," he said.

   
Astute little cowboy, ain't you?
she thought.

   "Maybe I didn't hear them. What do you think my name is?" she asked.

   "I wouldn't have any idea but I'm a damn good judge of a person, so I know Jane is not your name," he said.

   "Then by all means, entertain me with your version of who and what I am," she said.

   "Gladly," he nodded. "You have worked around wealthy people and you've picked up a few of their mannerisms. The way you hold your fork and put your knife just so on the plate after you use it. The way you dab your mouth with your napkin rather than wiping at it like a field hand. Little things like that tell me you've been around moneyed people. But you have limited clothing and were riding a bus, which tells me you grabbed what you had and ran away from someone. You didn't have a vehicle and you were traveling the cheapest way possible. You took a job for low pay, so you have no money."

   "My, oh my, you are a genius, Slade Luckadeau."

   "Now tell me how you are in trouble," he said.

   "Me, in trouble? You're the one fixing to marry a shrew with two little clones of herself. I'd say you're the one in trouble."

   "I'm not marrying Kristy and she is not a shrew and how could you say that about two innocent little girls?" He raised his voice loud enough that two buzzards left their armadillo breakfast and took to the nearest pecan tree.