“Want to come over to the trailer and watch a movie? I rented a couple while I was in town. One with Richard Gere and one called Carolina with Julia Stiles,” he said.
“I’d love to,” she said. “It’s been years since I spent a Saturday night watching movies.”
“Good Lord, Dee, what did you do on Saturday night out there? Didn’t they have VCRs or DVDs?”
“Both, but Saturday night was for socializing among the rich and shameless. Dinner parties at the country club. Small gatherings sometimes at a fancy restaurant. No popcorn and movies. No lemonade on the back porch. Every minute was used for the business.”
He kissed her quickly on the cheek. “You poor undernourished darlin’.”
The touch of his lips turned her cheeks scarlet.
“It was a tough business, but someone had to do it. I just hope Ray’s new wife is up for the challenge.” She teased to cover up the embarrassment.
“There’ll be no more cussin’ in Roxie’s kitchen,” he whispered conspiratorially. “You say that man’s name again and she’ll be making you eat soap.”
“Yes, sir. Now that we have this job done, can I go change into shorts and a T-shirt, or is movie watching considered formal?”
“Redneck formal. No spaghetti stains on your shirt and no holes in your shorts.”
“Sounds downright wonderful to me. Don’t wait for me, though. Go on over to your place and get things going. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“You wouldn’t stand me up now, would you?”
“Honey, I wouldn’t think of it. Not with Richard Gere on the tube.”
Chapter Five
Jack tried to breathe but it was barely a wheezing snort. His forehead was on fire. The rest of his body felt as if he’d been immersed in a tub of ice water. He pulled the covers tightly up around his neck and fumbled for the remote control shoved down between the couch cushions. It should be against the law to catch a cold in the summer.
Drawing the quilt tighter around his shivering body, he peeked out the window behind the sofa. She was in there. In the store, keeping shop for him while he hung on to life by a thread. Okay, okay, so it wasn’t a life or death situation. It sure felt like it right at that moment. He groaned and threw himself back on the pillows. The announcer on the television told him that Days of Our Lives was next on the tube. Nanna’s show, he remembered. She watched it faithfully. It was the fifth love of her life. Her husband being the first. Her son, second. Jack, third. Fishing, fourth. And Days of Our Lives, fifth.
Jack would have rather been out in the store or over at Roxie’s. Not laid up with a bug that Bodine declared was the result of biological warfare waged by some little country with a name no one could pronounce. She said that they put the flu powder on the wings of buzzards and turned them loose over the United States to spread the biological warfare sickness. She’d learned about the possibility of such a thing in science class and it had instantly become proven fact. She’d promised that she’d brew a special potion and leave it on his front porch when she came home from school. He might just be tempted to drink it if he didn’t feel better by then. Who cared if her brew included boiled lake frogs? He’d be the guinea pig if it was guaranteed to make him well.
“Good grief.” Dee shook her head as she eyed the shelves in the store. How long had it been since Jack had given the place a good scrubbing? Sure, the bread man kept the shelves stocked with fresh goods. The snack man made sure there was lots of junk food to tempt even those campers with the greatest willpower. But there was enough dust on the shelf to grow a crop of watermelons.
Nanna always kept the place spotless in between her fishing trips. Somehow in the last seven years, the store had begun to look as if it had one foot in the grave and one on a boiled okra pod. Dee found a galvanized mop bucket in the bathroom, filled it with disinfectant and warm water, located Nanna’s old scrub rags, and went to work. She popped open a paper bag with a flourish and filled it with outdated medicine, shaking her head as she tossed in Tylenol that had expired three years before.
The telephone rang as she toted a bag out to the Dumpster behind the store. She ignored it, but it kept up the incessant howling until she answered it.
“What are you throwing away?” Jack asked.
“Stuff that should have been tossed years ago. Did you know that you’ve got things that were old when Moses was a baby? And besides, what are you doing spying on me, Jack Brewer? You are supposed to be sleeping and getting well. Roxie is making chicken soup for you and Granny Branson. She’s got the hootus too. The three B&B queens are meeting at Branson’s Inn and having chicken soup and telling tales to frighten children in an attempt to make Granny Branson laugh and feel better.” She held the phone against her right shoulder and wiped down the medicine display shelf. Aspirin, gauze, nose spray, allergy medicine.
“So the queens are in session?” He coughed until he sounded like he might expel a lung.
“Yes, they are, so Murray County better beware. Roxie, Molly, and Etta. Rivals at business. Best friends at heart.”
“Roxie’s already given it up. Molly says she’s ready to retire. That just leaves Etta, and she’s not in good health.” Jack sneezed four times in rapid succession.
“Stop talking and go get some rest. I’ll get this place cleaned and then bring you some soup for supper. Roxie’s already gone to Branson’s Inn. We’re having Mexican chicken for supper, and if you’re up to it, I’ll bring a slab of that over too.”
“I’m up for it, I promise. I love Roxie’s Mexican chicken. Did you know that Stella married some fellow from California and last time the queens were in session, Molly said things weren’t going so well.” Jack was reluctant to hang up and go back to the soap opera.
“No, hadn’t heard anything. What about Roseanna?” Dee asked about Etta’s granddaughter. The three of them, Dee, Rosie, and Stella, had grown up together. All three had grandmothers who ran bed and breakfast establishments.
“Roseanna married a rich man from Tulsa. Some fancy man.”
“Roseanna Cahill? Surely we’re not talking about the same woman. She and Jodie wore jeans all the time, rode bulls, did the rodeo circuit. Tulsa?” Dee stopped cleaning for a minute to let that soak in.
“She worked on the police force as some kind of special tracking person until she ran off with Mr. Fancy Pants. Come to think of it, you did the same. Didn’t ride bulls or rodeo, but ran off with Mr. Fancy Pants.”
“My shoulder is cramping from holding this phone, and I don’t want to hear about the past. I’m hanging up, so good-bye, Jack. Get some rest. I’ll bring you soup for supper.”
“Will you stay and talk to me while I eat it?”
“Of course. But only if you promise you won’t pawn the flu off on me.” She hung up the phone before he had time to find something else to talk about.
She rolled her head around in circles to get the kink out of her neck and went back to cleaning. By the time she had the shelves all cleaned, the glass doors of the coolers sparkling, and the floor mopped, she was sweaty and tired. She popped open a can of Dr Pepper, plopped down in the worn, old vinyl chair behind the counter and propped her feet up beside the cash register.
Ray would have been mortified if he’d seen her dressed like that, drinking from the can like a common hoyden, strands of hair escaping from the plastic headband holding it back from her face. Maybe he was right. You could take the girl from the gutter but not the gutter from the girl. He’d taken her from Buckhorn Corner, away from southern Oklahoma, and she’d survived; was a quick study in corporate wifedom. But the yearning had always been there to go back to her gutter, where she was accepted just as she was.
It was hard to think of Roseanna Cahill living in Tulsa. Jack had to be joking. She could easily see her in California. Tall. Pretty. A smile to die for. Legs that went from earth to heaven. Movie-star material for sure. But Roseanna in Tulsa? She shook her head involuntarily.
Roxie swung open the sto
re’s door, letting the screen door slam behind her. “Looks like you’ve put in a profitable day. Almost gives a body the shivers, though. Looks like Myrtle came back from the dead and cleaned the place.”
Roxie wore a pair of her Spandex capris, lime green, with a Hawaiian-print shirt that buttoned up the front, the top two buttons left open. Hot-pink flip-flops with what she called kitten heels. She’d tied her ratted hair back with a bright yellow scarf, letting the ends hang over one shoulder. Dee needed to put on sunglasses with that much brightness but she just shaded her eyes with the back of her hand.
“It needed cleanin’, and that door hasn’t been opened all day until you came in. Guess most of the tourist season is over. So how were the queens?”
Roxie snapped open a folding chair and sat down beside her granddaughter. “Oh, Molly isn’t doing so good. Her immune system is shot all to the devil. All that stuff they pumped in her veins to kill the cancer took its toll on her system. Every little bug that floats through the county stays with her. But she did have news of Stella. You know, it must be something in the water at the B&B businesses. All three of you girls got the short end of the stick when it came to men folk. Guess it’s partially our fault. Raising you up without any men around to speak of. You didn’t know the male gender could be such rascals. At least you and Stella didn’t. Roseanna had a good father for a role model. Give me one of those things you’re drinking. Hotter’n a back seat in hell, ain’t it?”
Dee’s sweaty thighs made a sucking noise as they left the vinyl chair. She tugged her shorts down and fetched a Dr Pepper, thumbing back the tab as she walked back. “Haven’t got a glass. So you’ll have to lower your standards and drink from the can. So what’s the news on Stella?”
“It’s so hot, I’d almost drink it from the potty. Stella’s news is that she’s unhappy. Man is a regular horse’s hind end. Stella can’t do squat right, and yet she stays with him. Molly says she’s left the door open for her to come home any time she wants. She married that boy just older than you all. Mitch, who was too pretty for a boy and thought he was movie-star material. He’s out there in California letting Stella support him while he runs around looking for a movie to star in. Worthless is what he is.” Roxie sipped at the cold soda pop.
“And he’s not even a Yankee,” Dee grinned.
“Men are men. Yankees are just worse than the average lot. Besides, Roseanna almost married one.”
“Almost?” Dee blew a hair away from her mouth. She picked up the fly swatter from beside the cash register and flattened two varmints before she turned her Dr Pepper up again, trying in vain to cool off from the inside out.
“They’re living in Tulsa but that man of hers grew up in California. That’s not the north, but it’s just as bad. They live in the penthouse in some big fancy place. Ain’t no way Roseanna is going to get up in the morning, put on her boots, and go for a horseback ride to check on the cattle before breakfast, now is there?” Roxie mopped her brow with a paper towel she took off the roller beside the cash register.
“Guess there might be something in the water here to make us go through a stupid phase. I’m just glad mine is over.”
“Is it?”
“I’m here, ain’t I?” Dee snapped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken like that.”
“Accepted. But you aren’t through your stupid phase yet, sugar. Not until you wake up and smell the coffee brewing right under your nose.”
“You mean Jack, don’t you? Roxie, we’re the best of friends. Why would I ruin that for a husband?”
“The best relationships in the world come with friendship and passion combined. I’m going home to where there’s enough air-conditioning to harden up my fat cells. They’re about to all melt away in this place. Why Jack don’t put in air-conditioning is beyond me. Sit here in this heat all day. It’s a sin.”
“He likes it, evidently. Goodness knows it’s not because he can’t afford it.”
“Most likely it’s because he don’t want the customers to stay very long.” Roxie patted Dee on the shoulder.
She’d only been gone a few minutes when two young men slipped in the door. They went to the cooler, took out two suitcases of beer, set them on the counter along with two big bags of corn chips and a can of bean dip. Dee could have shouted. The day wasn’t going to be a complete bust. She’d at least have more than the hundred dollars of start-up money in the till when the day was finished.
“I’ll need some ID.” She eyed the two men carefully.
If either of them was a day over sixteen she’d be surprised, so there went the price of beer. All she would have in the till would be the price of two bags of chips and a can of bean dip. At least it would beat nothing.
“Sure, lady, we got ID. The most important kind.” One of them pointed a pistol at her heart. “Now you empty what’s in that cash drawer and we’ll take it right along with this little bit of refreshment. Then I think we’ll take you to the back room. Tie you up so you won’t be calling the law on us.”
“Boys, you don’t want to do this.” She was amazed that words came from her dry mouth.
Nanna had told her for years she’d never go to the back room if robbers came into the store. If they were going to kill her, they’d have to do it right in front of the glass windows where God and everyone else could see. “Just put that gun away and walk on out of here.”
“I don’t think so,” the other one chuckled. “I think we’re having the money, the beer, and the woman.”
Roxie slung open the screen door and pointed a double-barreled shotgun at their backs. “Well, I think different. Now you both best turn around right easy and put that gun on the floor. Dee, you step on over to the side. I wouldn’t want to get blood on you if I have to pull these triggers.”
“You’re just an old woman. You wouldn’t have the guts to shoot us.” The one with the gun spun around and pointed the pistol at her.
She cocked the hammer back and sighted down the barrel, not blinking or flinching. She stepped around closer to Dee but kept the gun trained on the biggest of the boys. “That, young man, is where you’re wrong. You wouldn’t be the first young punk who’s bled on this floor. The last one is providin’ fertilizer for the rosebushes out back. Didn’t even call the sheriff or his family. Just plugged him and planted him.”
“Put the gun down, man. She ain’t bluffin’. She’s crazy. You can see it in her eyes,” the smaller of the two said.
“Call the police, Dee,” Roxie said calmly.
“Run!” The one with the gun yelled and took off out the door so fast the other one had to think fast to get enough traction to even follow in his wake.
Roxie stepped to the door and fired one round right over their heads, giggling when the one with the gun did a little fancy step dance right before he bailed into the driver’s seat of a low-slung convertible. She fired another round as the second one ran alongside the car, holding onto the door handle and trying to get inside the moving vehicle at the same time. The boom seemed to put a little fire into his efforts. He let out a wailing scream and bounded into the passenger’s seat, slamming the door behind him.
“Roxie! What have you done?” Dee shouted.
Roxie lowered the gun and pointed her finger at Dee. “Don’t you raise your voice to me. I didn’t hit them. They’ll be searching over their skinny little hind ends looking to see if they’re bleeding, but they aren’t. If I’d wanted them filled with holes, they would be. I just wanted to scare the devil out of them. Now give me that cordless phone.”
Dee gave it to her with trembling hands.
Roxie poked in the numbers without even a twitch. “Sheriff, this is Roxie Hooper. Couple of young Texans just tried to rob the store out here at Buckhorn Corner. I shot in the air to scare them right good, and they’re probably still shakin’ in their boxers. They’re armed with one of those fancy new pistols that looks like the cops use on the television shows. I think it’s called a Glock. And they’re driving a brand
-new little Thunderbird convertible. Red. With a license plate that reads STUD89. Headed right into the park. Left here two minutes ago. Just thought you’d like to know. Sure thing, Sheriff. I’ll just come on in right now. That way it’ll be done before suppertime. Want me to bring you a quart of chicken soup? Jack and Molly are both ailin’, so I made it today.”
Roxie listened for a while and then nodded. “Lock it up, Dee. We got to go identify us a couple of petrified little boys.”
“I need to call Jack. I can’t go anywhere lookin’ like this, Roxie. Can I have ten minutes to shower and change?”
“I’ll call Jack. You dash on over to the house and get changed. By the time I get the soup in the jar, you be back downstairs. They’ll have those baby boys in the jail by the time we get there.”
Dee was already opening the front door. “How do you know that?”
“Because the dispatcher put it out on the air while I was talking to the sheriff and the car was already in the park. They’re following it now. By the time we get to the jail, they’ll be waiting—whining and screaming about me shootin’ at them.” Roxie dialed the familiar number of the trailer behind the store.
It was the quickest shower Dee ever had. She jerked a pair of khaki walking shorts over her half-dried body, a turquoise T-shirt over her head, and her feet into a pair of sandals. By the time she was downstairs, Roxie came out of the kitchen toting a jar of chicken soup and half a loaf of fresh bread. Before either of them reached the front door, it swung open and Jack rushed in, combing back his wet hair with his fingertips.
“What are you doing up?” Roxie asked.
“I’m going with you. Are you all right, Dee? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” He eyed her up and down, making sure Roxie hadn’t told a lie when she assured him over and over that the robbers hadn’t laid a hand on Dee.
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