by Lynn Shurr
“Yeah, but you’ll still look the same, Sex Maniac. See you at the clinic.”
Joe did hold Nell’s hands throughout the painless but delicate implantation of the three microscopic pre-fetuses that might become their future family. The doctor was unwilling to go with more considering Nell’s small stature and the possibility of multiple births. He remained cautiously optimistic, given Nell’s youth and her good physical condition, at least one child would result—or two or three. If none, three more embryos had been stored cryogenically for another try.
During the mandatory hour’s rest with feet up, Nell’s hand went limp as she dozed off, sleepy from the previous night’s activities. Joe went quietly from the room and sought out Jackie who was drinking weak coffee and trying to catch vending machine peanuts with her mouth out in the waiting room.
“Thanks for staying. Nell just about broke my fingers she was so tense. I’ll have to call in a reserve when she goes into labor.”
“Call me and I’ll be there.”
“I know I can count on you. Ever want children of your own, Jackie?”
“Naw. Peanut?” she offered him the sack and he shook a few into his aching hand. “I hope Stevie will let me help raise hers when she and Connor get around to having some. I’ll make the same offer to you. Free golf lessons to any of your kids that want to learn and great gifts every Christmas and birthday and Saint’s Day. When should I plan to take some time off the circuit?”
“Early December if everything goes well. I know I rushed too soon, but we had this narrow window of opportunity and I had to act. I guess everyone thinks this is a big ego trip for me, but honest, I couldn’t stand the thought of Emily and maybe some other women making Nell feel less than complete for the rest of her life. I would do anything to make Nell happy.”
“So how’s it feel to be a grownup with a wife, and probably more than one kid, Sex Maniac?”
“Good. It feels good.” He regarded Jackie Haile’s plain face for a moment. She tugged at a small gold knot-shaped earring in her lobe.
“Stevie gave you those, didn’t she?”
“Might have.”
“You wear them a lot.”
“Shows off my pretty ears. They’re my best feature.” Jackie gave him a rueful smile.
“It’s always been Stevie for you, hasn’t it? You’d do anything for her including getting her back with Connor.”
“Now you sound like a girlfriend. Cut it out, Joe.” Jackie launched another peanut into her mouth and choked on it. Joe slammed her on the back until the nut went down the right pipe.
“Look, my work here is done. I have to get on the road and win a few more championships so I can keep up with you, Mr. Super Bowl. Call me about the wedding or the baby. Whichever comes first. I’m outta here.” She gave Joe a manly hug and went on her way alone.
TWENTY-NINE
No sex for three weeks, the doctor said. Joe scrambled for ways to make the time pass faster. He rented a houseboat and they sailed Lake Havasu for a week catching fish and watching sunsets like the retired couples who were able to enjoy such luxuries now that their kids were grown.
At the beginning of their second week of abstinence, Nell suggested they visit the red rock country of Sedona. For her, rough riding Jeep trips were forbidden and balloon rides were chancy, so they strolled among the galleries and admired the scenery. Joe treated Nell as if she were a precious work of art or natural wonder that could not be jolted or violated in any way. In the back of both their minds unspoken lingered the question as to whether or not Nell was pregnant.
When Joe stepped out to get a paper or bring his wife some treat he thought she would like, Nell stared at her naked self in the mirror front and sideways, searching for early signs, and found none. She had a good appetite now that the worst of the stress had passed. Nothing made her nauseous, not the sushi at the Japanese restaurant or the Mexican special scarfed up at a roadside diner. She had plenty of energy thanks to her enforced rest periods. Frankly, she wanted to go home.
Joe saw the poster for the rodeo. “Ever been to one? Want to go?” he asked his antsy wife in his quest to find sedentary, non-sexual activities that wouldn’t jounce, shake or bump any babies from her womb.
Horseback riding, jogging, even swimming in the hotel pool were on the no-no list. Surely she could sit in the bleachers and watch other people being tossed to the ground by bulls and broncos. Distracted by medical procedures, they’d had no time to think about Cassie.
Nell put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Joe, we can look for Cassie. We can ask people if they’ve seen her. See if you can get a rodeo schedule.”
He argued his investigator was covering rodeos in Texas and would pass this way eventually, but Nell insisted, eager to do anything useful. Immediately, they discovered a dismaying number of rodeos going on throughout the country, big ones, small ones, regionals and nationals. They even held them in places like Minnesota and Ohio, though not at this time of year. In two weeks, they could probably attend six at the most, but this is what Nell wanted to do, and so they did.
The couple drove from one dusty venue to another and searched with Joe keeping a firm grip on Nell’s elbow as he guided her around the cow plops, horse nuggets and gobs of smokeless tobacco spotting the dirt and straw. No one they questioned, whether Navajo boy or Texan and proud of it, admitted to seeing the red-haired girl or her horse or the shifty guy in the mug shot. They figured Cassie must be dyeing her brilliant mop, brown most likely, the color it had been when Bijou sold the ponies.
In the end, they sat gratefully in an air-conditioned indoor arena with restrooms instead of portable toilets and a selection of chicken wraps and salads at the snack bars along with the usual hot dogs and greasy fries. Lately, Nell’s stomach had been acting up, but she wrote it off to the hot tamales consumed at their last stop. The one problem with arenas was that rodeo riders had locker rooms and press conferences just like football players and were much less accessible for questioning. In the end, Joe’s celebrity paid off.
He was caught on big screen and publicly welcomed to the event over the loudspeaker. Joe, ever the showman, waved a hand wearing a Super Bowl ring and gave the camera his dazzling smile. He applauded and cheered the good performances while Nell winced and gasped over every fallen rider or nearly gored cowboy. When the barrel racers performed, she searched her program for a familiar name and strained to hear the announcer when he mentioned the horses.
As the third female rider and mount shot out on to the cloverleaf course, Nell gripped Joe’s arm hard enough to leave marks. “Joe, that’s Copperhead,” she shouted as the names were called—Norma Jean Scruggs on Copper Heart.
“I don’t know, Nell. That horse is kind of dappled and the rider sure isn’t Cassie.” Norma Jean Scruggs had a long, black braid of hair flying in her wake and several inches in height over the lost girl. Although it was hard to tell under the brim of her hat, the face seemed older and wiser, too.
“Look at the way he moves and those strange blue eyes. We have to get backstage and talk to Norma Jean,” Nell insisted. “If you won’t come, I’ll go alone.”
She waited long enough for Norma Jean to post the second best time, then sprinted down the steep arena steps with Joe grabbing out for her arm to prevent a spill.
Joe asked a guard the way to the women’s dressing room and got a sly wink in return.
“Still one for the ladies, eh, Mr. Billodeaux?” The guard took a step back when the little bitty thing hanging on Joe Dean’s arm gave him a look she usually reserved for doctors who treated her clients callously. “Uh, let me walk you over there.”
“Gals, you got a special visitor here in the hallway wants to talk to y’all. It’s Joe Deeeen!” the guard called as if he were announcing the next even.
The quarterback was chest deep in cowgirls in five seconds flat. Some of the ladies barely had their shirts buttoned or jeans zipped. Some went bootless. Norma Jean Scruggs still had the flecks of straw and
dirt on her face from her furious ride around the barrels. Nell homed in on her while Joe signed autographs on programs, number placards, the brim of a Lady Stetson, and a bra.
“Have you ever seen this girl or this man or this horse?” Nell questioned thrusting out her photos.
Norma Jean gave a quick glance, then rotated her eyes back to Joe and edged nearer to getting her own autograph. “Might have.”
“For pity’s sake!” Nell stood on tiptoe and waved her hand over the taller bodies surrounding her, all of them dressed or partially dressed like models for western wear. “Joe, I need you over here!”
“Sorry girls, the old lady is calling me.”
He moved like Moses through the waters with women parting before him and arrived next to Nell. It was no accident she back-stepped on to his toes as she mumbled, “Old lady, old lady!” under her breath.
Despite the pain in his foot, he managed a charming Billodeaux smile for Norma Jean Scruggs. “Can you help us find this girl, Miss? It means a great deal to me.” His voice lowered to bedroom intimacy level.
Norma Jean pried her blue eyes from his and studied the photos Nell handed her. “Well, the girl I’m thinking of is older, has mousey brown hair and is kind of chubby for a barrel racer. Most of us are sort of, you know, sleek.”
Norma Jean ran her hands down the length of her trim, athletic body from the flowered yoke of her western shirt to the pants pockets of her jeans. She pulled the fabric of her blouse a little tighter over high, shapely breasts.
Joe Dean gave her an appreciative smile of encouragement. “Go on, sugar, about the man and the horse.”
“Well the kid must have had some talent, though, because she scored enough points in wins at the smaller rodeos to edge into a better competition. The horse, now, has the same head and confirmation as Copper Heart. Could be his brother in fact. The guy though, he had reddish hair and a dark brown beard. Figured one or the other was dyed.”
“How long ago did you see them?” Nell bobbed up and down in her impatience.
“Just last week. Bought Copper Heart from them since they were in kind of a financial bind and my best horse came up lame. Girl finished out of the money. Her old man was giving her hell sayin’ how he couldn’t feed her and the horse on what he made leading two mangy ponies around a ring for the little dudes. I gave ’em twenty thousand for the animal. Should keep ’em in grits and hotel rooms for a while. They slept in that big, fancy rig he drove. Me, I would have sold the truck and got something smaller before I gave up my horse, but I gathered they had more going on than money trouble.”
“You might say that. Miss Scruggs, would you mind if we took a look at Copper Heart? I’m truly afraid you might have been taken advantage of,” Joe Dean asked, exerting all his charm.
“I’d love to show you my horse, Joe Dean,” the barrel racer assured him and took his arm, leaving Nell to follow behind fuming while the riders who had not gotten an autograph complained about Norma Jean having all the luck today.
A teenaged girl was giving Copper Heart a light rubdown at the back of a trailer that put Joe Dean’s vehicle to shame. Air-conditioned, it was painted a brilliant red and had Norma Jean’s name on it framed by painted flowering saguaro cactuses. A fine bay quarter horse mare with one leg wrapped in bandages looked on while the dapple got all the attention.
Joe ran his hands over Norma Jean’s mount, took a close look at the spots, then curled back the lips. He compared the tattoo with a number he carried in his wallet. As if to end any doubt, the horse head-butted him and gave a familiar nicker.
“I’m sorry Miss Norma Jean. This horse was stolen from me about three months ago in Louisiana. His name is Copperhead and he was taken by my cousin along with the girl and two ponies. Bijou knew how to doctor horses. I think he bleached most of his spots, but you can see they’re starting to come out again. Knowing this one, he didn’t like having his head worked on so Bijou left rings around the eyes.” Joe gave a friendly nose rub to Copperhead.
“Well, gawl darned! Taken for a fool and shut out of the runnin’. How am I supposed to ride now? I might have taken over first place next round.” Norma Jean slapped her hands on her slim thighs. “Out twenty thousand and some mighty big prize money. Knew this animal was too big a bargain. But he had the papers and all, matched his license.”
“Joel Beam Billodeaux?” Joe asked.
“Nope. Joe Bream Billod. The girl went by Callie.”
“Look, sugar, mostly we want to find the girl. How about if I rent you the horse until you find another one just as good?”
“That’s right generous.” Norma Jean paused as if remembering she’d been conned by this man’s cousin. “How much?” she asked suspiciously, flinging back the black braid she had been fingering.
“A dollar a month and you bring him back to my ranch when you pass that way.”
“Deal.” Norma Jean shook his hand as firmly as any cowboy, then ducked into the mobile home painted to match the horse trailer, came out with her tooled leather purse and paid her dollar. She handed over the altered papers for the horse as well.
“Here’s where you can reach me to get directions to the ranch.” Joe Dean scrawled a phone number on a slip of paper and out of habit wrote his name behind underlining his signature with the devil’s tail heart.
“Stick around and watch me take the next round, you great big beautiful man.” Norma Jean stuffed the phone number into the pocket over one firm breast and gave it a pat with her long tanned fingers. She kissed Joe full on the lips as if his little wife were invisible.
“Ahem,” Nell interrupted. “Where did you last see Cassie and Bijou?”
“Oh, place outside of Phoenix. Got the idea they were heading to Mexico where they could live cheap and maybe find another horse. Poor kid. Should never have gotten involved with a cowboy.”
“Some say the same about football players,” Nell told her, but the woman’s attention had turned again to Joe Dean.
“It’s been a pleasure, sugar,” he told the barrel racer practically kissing her fingertips instead of shaking hands in good-bye.
“All mine,” she sighed.
“Phoenix!” ranted Nell moving away quickly. “They were right next door while we were trying to make babies.”
“Don’t get excited, sugar.” Joe Dean caught up with her. “Watch where you walk.”
“Don’t call me sugar ever again!”
“Tink, don’t get excited. You catch more flies with honey. That’s all I was doing back there.”
“You say! I’ll be big and pregnant with little Deanie on my hip and slinky, gorgeous Norma Jean is going to show up at our place bringing her own bed.” The tears started to flow.
“You know what, Tink? I think you are pregnant and it’s time to go back to Phoenix and find out for sure.”
THIRTY
Joe stopped at a small restaurant on the other side of the hills surrounding Phoenix when Nell said her stomach was acting up because she was starving. Nell ordered a grilled chicken sandwich, no fries, and a wedge of lemon meringue pie with hot tea while Joe took a chance on the chili, the apple pie a la mode and coffee. They savored all the food, but Nell complained of heartburn before they reached the city limits.
“Must be pregnant,” Joe remarked, trying to keep it casual.
“It was those bad tamales. I’m still sick from them.”
“I had the same tamales and I’m fine. And you’re so touchy. The guys said their wives get touchy when…”
“I’m touchy because of your touchy-feely ways with Miss Norma Jean Championship Barrel Racer. Don’t think I didn’t see you slip her that phone number signed the same way as the note you gave me one year ago.” Nell pressed her head against car window and pretended to watch the cactus-studded landscape pass by.
“I gave her the number for the phone at the ranch which you answer ninety percent of the time because she’ll need directions, and I did not try to hide it from you. The signature is just fo
rce of habit.”
“Admit you miss your old life! You must wish you’d never met me and Deanie had never been born. You only needed a mother for your bastard.”
The words sat on the tip of his tongue to say he did miss the old days of wild women and drunken brawls simply to hurt her back, but the truth was, he didn’t. He played the game with steadiness now, Nell was his match in every way and he would never regret his son. He held in his anger and felt it melt away when he saw Nell’s shoulders shake as she cried silently against the glass.
“Come over here, Tink. How can I tell you how much I love you and Deanie if you won’t believe me?”
She came, slid down and sobbed into his lap. Nell slept in that awkward position until they pulled up in front of the Sheraton, their home away from home, again. Joe gently lowered her head to the car seat and slipped out. He opened the passenger door and bundled his wife to his chest. With a whisper to the doorman that he would be coming back shortly, Joe carried Nell to the suite without waking her, laid her down on the king-sized bed, and pulled off the sneakers with the straw and manure ground into the treads. He tucked the extra blanket around her and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.
Scribbling a note on hotel stationary, Joe let Nell know he was going to put in a personal appearance at the Phoenix Police Department to ask for their help in notifying the Border Patrol to be on the lookout for the stolen truck even though Bijou had certainly changed the plates. He needed to add a new description of the missing girl whose appearance had altered since the first alert. He called his investigator on the way and told him to get his ass to Arizona. Now that Nell was out of hearing, he placed another call to the fertility clinic to let them know he would be bringing his wife in for her pregnancy test in the morning.
Nell woke up in a hotel bed with a resounding version of When the Saints go Marchin’ In filling the room. She groped for her purse which Joe had slung on to a table nearby and located the blasting cell phone in its bottom. This was the number her old clients and friends tended to call while she used Joe’s accounts more often than not.
