by Elena Graf
Cherie could see in Brenda’s eyes that she approved of how she looked. She took her measure from head to toe. “Well, aren’t you the perfect country date?”
“Would you like to come in and say hello to my father?” asked Cherie, tugging gently at her elbow.
Brenda glanced at her arm. “I guess I do.”
“He wants to make sure you’re good company for his little girl, so look sharp!”
Brenda laughed. “I’ll try to make a good impression.”
Cherie led her into the living room. Jean-Paul tried to get to his feet.
“Please don’t get up, sir,” said Brenda, reaching out her hand. “I’m Brenda Harrison.”
“Hail to the chief.” Jean-Paul grinned at his own cleverness. He took her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Chief Harrison. I’m Jean-Paul Bois. My friends call me JP.”
“Pleased to meet you, JP.”
“Where are you girls going to dinner?”
“There’s a country bar and grill called The Eagle’s Nest up in Lyman. Good Tex-Mex food. Great music.”
When Jean-Paul glanced her way, Cherie could guess what he was thinking. He knew that country wasn’t his daughter’s favorite music, but he nodded pleasantly.
“I reserved a table for seven, so we probably should head out,” said Brenda. She raised her fingers to her forehead in a little salute. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bois.”
Cherie bent to kiss her father. “See you later, Daddy.”
“Don’t bring her home too late,” he called after them.
After Cherie closed the door to the house, Brenda said, “Your father is adorable.”
“He thinks he’s still taking care of me when obviously, it’s the other way around.”
“It’s sweet. Are you an only child?”
Cherie felt a flutter of anxiety. Did she want to go there?
“I had a half-sister from my mother’s first marriage…but we lost her.”
Brenda stopped walking, obviously waiting for Cherie to say more.
“I’ll tell you another time,” Cherie finally said.
“Okay,” said Brenda in an uncertain tone. “Let’s get in the truck. It’s wicked cold out here.”
Brenda yanked her seatbelt around her. She arranged it to fall neatly between her breasts, which made Cherie give them an appreciative second look. Stop looking at her chest, Cherie ordered herself, but it had been a long time since she’d had sex and looking at Brenda’s attractive breasts had given her a surprising jolt. She averted her eyes and deliberately faced forward.
“I hope you like this place,” said Brenda, backing up the truck. “It can get a little rowdy at times, but it’s mostly in good fun.”
“Do they know you’re a police chief?”
“Nah, I try to keep work life separate from my private life. Fortunately, Lyman is a far enough from Hobbs that I never run into people I know.” Brenda switched on the radio. It was preset to a country music station. “This is Luke Combs. He won best male vocalist last year.” Brenda nodded her head to the beat.
“Is country your favorite music?” asked Cherie.
“I also like classic rock. You know, from when we were growing up. What kind of music do you like?”
“I lived in New Orleans, so jazz, of course. I love classical music.”
“Actually, I do too.”
It was so unexpected Cherie gasped a little. “You do?”
“Yes, but I didn’t want to scare you off, so I was going to wait to tell you.” Brenda pressed another preset and Maine Public Classical streamed through the speakers. “This will be a nice palate cleanser before we get to The Eagle’s Nest.”
“Thank you. This is nice.”
“Sibelius is wonderful,” said Brenda. “I really like the second symphony.”
Cherie was intrigued. This was not what she’d expected. Not at all. But why shouldn’t a cop like classical music? Cherie scolded herself for believing in stereotypes and assuming that Brenda couldn’t have sophisticated tastes in music. She glanced at Brenda, smiling as she enjoyed the music, and suddenly found herself wondering where she carried her gun.
“Did you like living in New Orleans?” asked Brenda. “I always wanted to go there. It’s on my bucket list.”
“I loved it. I was happy to come back after we moved to Shreveport. I went to Tulane for college. How about you?”
“Oh, I went to John Jay. I’m blue through and through.”
“Did you always want to be a cop?”
“Yep. Since I was a kid. My father was NYPD. He made sergeant before he died in the line of duty.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cherie.
Brenda shrugged. “It’s always a possibility. And it’s not just bad guys with guns. You can be writing a speeding ticket and some asshole might mow you down.”
“Yes, I heard about that trooper who was killed on the interstate last year. A shame.”
Brenda nodded. “Being a cop means putting yourself in danger so other people can be safe.”
“How does that make you feel?” asked Cherie, genuinely curious.
Brenda turned to her with a frown. “You trying to shrink me?”
“No, of course not.” Cherie realized her tone sounded unnecessarily defensive.
“But you are a shrink. Liz told me.”
“That was my profession before I went back to school to become a physician’s assistant. You get to a certain point in a career, and you just need a change.”
“Really? Hasn’t happened to me yet. I love police work.”
Brenda turned into the parking lot of The Eagle’s Nest. It was packed with vehicles, mostly trucks. “Busy night,” she observed. “Like I said, sometimes I think they just come in to enjoy the animal warmth. Good thing we have reservations.”
The line to get into the dining room clogged the entrance. Brenda led the way, threading through the crowd to the desk. “Two for seven…under Harrison.”
The hostess grabbed two menus and led them to a table in the pub. Unfortunately, it was near the bar and the overflow of patrons waiting for drinks was uncomfortably close. “Sorry, it’s the best I can do tonight,” the hostess apologized. “As you can see it’s packed. Can I put in a bar order for you? Corona is on special for a dollar a bottle.”
“Can’t beat that,” said Brenda. “I’ll have one.”
Cherie chimed in, “Me too.”
“Your waitress will bring it right over. Enjoy your dinner.”
Cherie opened the menu curiously. Since coming north, she hadn’t had much Mexican food because she was always disappointed. She would admit that she was spoiled. When she was doing her PA program at Baylor, she ate amazing Tex-Mex food.
Their beer arrived. Brenda popped her lime wedge into the bottle. Cherie carefully squeezed out the juice and removed hers.
“Concerned about the environment?” asked Brenda, watching. “I know it’s hard to recycle the bottles with limes in them.”
“Nope. I’m worried about germs. Citrus slices at bars are known to be riddled with bacteria and other filth.”
“Now you tell me.” Brenda picked up her bottle and eyed the pale lime wedge floating around in the beer. “Doesn’t the alcohol kill everything?”
“No, but it’s probably fine.”
“My grandfather used to say, ‘you have to eat a peck of dirt before you die.’ He was a cop too.”
“A peck is a lot of dirt. Does anyone even know what peck is anymore?”
“Up here in Lyman, they do. Big apple orchard in this town.” Brenda glanced at the people bringing in amplifiers and instrument cases. Every time the door opened cold air blasted into the room. “We’re early. Music doesn’t start until eight o’clock.”
Cherie looked up from the menu. Brenda’s eyes held a peculiar expression, and Cher
ie realized with some discomfort that it was pure attraction. Her first impulse was to glance away to break the spell, but she didn’t. Instead, she found herself returning it.
“I don’t mind. It’s quiet now, so we can talk.”
The blue eyes across the table registered sincere pleasure at that idea.
Chapter Eight
The loud music was making Brenda’s ears feel like they were stuffed with cotton. The band was loud enough, but now everyone was singing along to “I Have Friends in Low Places.” Cherie had to shout to be heard and, even then, Brenda wasn’t sure what she was saying. Why did she ever think The Eagle’s Nest was a good place to bring a date? If she really wanted to get to know Cherie, maybe they should get out of there and find a quieter place where they could talk.
But first Brenda had to pee. Beer went right through her, and that cheap Corona she’d been drinking desperately wanted a way out. She saw the line for the ladies’ room snaking into the pub. She’d been watching out of the corner of her eye for a break. So far, it had only gotten worse. She’d just have to wait on the line.
“I have to powder my nose,” Brenda shouted over the din.
Cherie shook her head. “I can’t hear you,” she mouthed and cocked her ear.
Brenda pointed to the line outside the ladies’ room door. Finally, Cherie understood and nodded. Brenda threaded through the crowd, saying “excuse me” over and over again as she made her way through the crush of bodies near the stage. Fortunately, it looked like the line was moving quickly, but it was still a ten-minute wait. Brenda tried to be patient and think of something other than her bladder.
She still couldn’t figure out the woman she’d left at the table. She seemed much more comfortable than the first few times they’d met, but she had such a calm, even demeanor that she was hard to read. Liz refused to tell her if she was gay, saying she’d have to ask her herself. Of course, that was the right thing to say, the professional thing. But they were good friends now. Couldn’t she just wiggle her eyebrows or something to give her a hint? Brenda decided that until she was sure, she’d let Cherie take the lead.
Finally, she was in the bathroom. It was a mess after all those women had been through it. The floor and the vanity of the sink were littered with wet paper towels. She wished the women ahead of her would hurry up. All that beer was suddenly very impatient. Finally, the toilet flushed, and the stall door opened. Peeing had never felt so good.
There was a wait to use the sink too, but Brenda tried to be patient. She wanted to wash her hands after dealing with all that filth. Finally, she left the bathroom and retraced her steps, pushing through the crowd on the way back to their table.
As she approached, she saw something she didn’t like. A man was sitting in her seat. Cherie was talking to him, except she didn’t look happy. Brenda forced her way through the knot of people by the bar and hurried back to the table.
“Excuse me,” Brenda said to the man. “That’s my seat.”
“Who are you?” he asked, looking up.
“I said, that’s my seat.”
“She said I could sit here.”
“I did not!” Cherie protested in a righteous voice.
“Get up. The lady said she’s not interested.”
“Says who? Is she your date?”
“Get up,” Brenda repeated in her most authoritative voice.
The man stood. He smelled strongly of whiskey. Brenda could see from his eyes that he was obviously drunk.
“Are you a dyke?” he asked Brenda.
“Look. I don’t want trouble. Just leave us alone.”
“You look like you could be a dyke. You lick pussy?” He stuck out his tongue and wiggled it suggestively.
Brenda adjusted her stance for a possible fight. She looked the drunk straight in the eye. “Jack, you’ve had too much to drink. Now, move aside and give me my seat back.”
“Or what?”
Brenda glanced at the bartender trying to get his attention. She preferred to have the management deal with the problem, but the bartender was clearly overwhelmed with customers.
Meanwhile, the man moved closer. He was rank with booze and body odor. Brenda resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose.
“Step back, dude. I mean it,” said Brenda, refusing to give him an inch.
“Or what, dyke?”
Brenda could feel Cherie watching her carefully.
The man moved closer until he was nearly on top of her. Fortunately, he wasn’t that tall, so he had no advantage in height. They eyed one another. His breath and his beard stank.
Brenda tried to get the bartender’s attention again, but now the view of the bar was blocked. Brenda realized that she had no choice but to handle this herself. She reached into her pocket for her badge and waved it in the man’s face. His mouth flew open like she’d slapped him, but instead of backing up, he shoved her away.
“Fucking cop!” he screamed. “Get the fuck away from me!”
Brenda pulled up her vest so she could reach her gun. Fortunately, the man’s scream finally got the bartender’s attention, and he raced over to their table. He stared at the badge and the gun on Brenda’s hip. Brenda could feel Cherie was staring at it too.
“That’s enough, Steve,” said the bartender, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him in the direction of the entrance. “You had too much. Now get the hell out of here!”
The man gave Brenda a filthy look, but he headed toward the door. When Brenda sat down in her seat, she saw that Cherie looked queasy. Brenda felt pretty queasy herself. She hated off-duty confrontations. With all those people in there and the type who frequented the place, it could have gone bad really fast.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Brenda said. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to pull out my badge.”
“I want to go,” said Cherie.
“Let’s give him a few minutes to go on his way. I don’t want another incident in the parking lot.”
“I want to go,” Cherie insisted.
“Okay.” Brenda took some twenties out of her wallet. She handed the money to the puzzled waitress on the way out.
“Stay close to me,” Brenda said, waving to Cherie to stand behind her as they headed outside. They hurried to the truck. Brenda clicked the doors locked as soon as they were inside.
“I’m sorry about that,” said Brenda as she started the engine.
“I told him to leave,” Cherie explained. “He just wouldn’t.”
“There are a lot of assholes up here.”
“Why did you show him the gun?”
“I wasn’t showing it to him. I just wanted access in case I needed it.”
Cherie shook her head. “Take me home, please.”
“Are you okay?” Brenda asked anxiously.
“No.”
The silence was unnerving as they drove back to Hobbs. Finally, Brenda broke it by saying, “Well, my cover’s blown at that place. I guess I won’t be going back there any time soon.”
“Why would you? It’s loud. People are rude. That guy called you a dyke.”
“Well, he’s not wrong about that,” said Brenda without thinking.
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course, it bothers me, but not enough to get into a fight or call the locals. I was just worried about protecting you.”
“I don’t need that kind of protection,” Cherie said. Brenda realized from her tone that she was angry. Very angry. “I hate guns.”
“You’d better get used to them. This is a constitutional carry state and a lot of people have them. Probably a lot of your patients carry concealed.”
Cherie was staring out the window, even though it was dark, and there was little to see.
“I’m sorry,” Brenda said again.
“I heard you the first time. And I underst
and why you did what you did. I just don’t like it. Can you understand?”
“Were you frightened?”
“Yes, very frightened. Of him and of you.”
“Of me?” Brenda asked incredulously. Then she realized why and was about to say, “I’m sorry” again but stopped herself. She focused on the road instead.
When she pulled into Cherie’s driveway, Brenda intended to shut off the engine and walk her to the door, but Cherie jumped out as soon as she parked in front of the cottage. “Thank you for dinner,” she said. She closed the door harder than necessary and hurried toward the house. Brenda remained to watch until she was inside.
***
Brenda awoke the next morning with a slight headache. She knew she shouldn’t have had that glass of whiskey before bed, but she’d needed something to take the edge off. What an asinine idea to take a woman like Cherie to that kind of place! Of course, the men would hit on her. She was beautiful, and a lot of men assumed two women alone to be fair game.
While Brenda drank a cup of coffee, she gave herself a pep talk. Don’t be discouraged about Cherie. Figure out a way to make it up to her. You can do it. She glanced at the clock. Seven o’clock. Liz would be up, but Maggie was probably still asleep. Brenda took her phone off the charger and called her friend.
“How did it go?” asked Liz. She never answered her calls with a simple hello, which could be unnerving. It was like she didn’t have time for greetings and needed to get right down to business.
“It was a complete bust,” said Brenda.
“Oh, no! What happened?”
“The place was packed. Some guy tried to hit on her. He was picking a fight. I had to pull out my badge, and she saw my gun.”
“That sucks.”
“I want to make it up to her somehow. Maybe I should invite her out to a nice place. What’s open? Do you know?”
“Maybe you should leave it alone for a while. Let it blow over.”
“Is that what you would do?”
“No,” Liz replied with a chuckle in her voice.
Brenda laughed. “I didn’t think so. What would you do?”
