The waitress bought their ice cream and set it down.
“Can you hear that singing? It’s my fat cells jumping around inside this big old floppy dress and getting ready for the first bite,” Molly said.
Greta picked up the spoon and set about eating. “Austin didn’t come in here to listen to us old hens fussin’ about the past. She come for advice, didn’t you, sweetheart?”
“What?”
“Advice,” Greta said.
“About what?”
“You are still here. You’ve had dinner with Rye and you’ve been plowing and planting. You’ve packed a few boxes and you’ve found her wine cellar, which intrigues you,” Molly said.
“How’d you know all that?” Austin’s eyes widened.
“Honey, you can’t fart in Terral without Oma Fay calling Pearlita and telling her what you ate for dinner and we talk to Pearlita every night on the telephone. Remember we told you that Oma Fay is Kent’s momma and he stops by there on his way home every day to pick up his boys. God, them is some wild kids. If anyone ever wants to bring them to your house tell them if they do you’re goin’ to drown them in the Red when they do,” Greta said.
“Good Lord!” Austin shoved the melting ice cream into her mouth.
“Last time I checked He was good,” Molly laughed. “So what do you want advice about? Staying? Leaving? How to get Rye to propose?”
“None of the above,” Austin said. “Why would you even think that?”
“Look under the table,” Greta said.
“What’s on the floor?”
“Your bare feet. No hose today and those pretty shoes are hurting your feet after you’ve got used to work boots or sneakers or whatever it is you wear out on the tractor,” Molly said.
“You mean you can’t tell me what brand of shoes I wear? Oma Fay must be falling down on the job,” Austin teased.
“Some kind of sneakers. I expect they’re them fancy kind but Oma Fay didn’t know the brand.”
“Nike,” Austin said.
“Aha!” Greta grinned. “Now we know something that she don’t. Tell us more so we won’t be the poor white trash cousins.”
“What?” Austin giggled.
“Oma Fay is the queen because she knows more than us. Pearlita is the princess because Oma Fay talks to her because they’re cousins. Me and Greta is third in line. So tell us something to make us more important.”
“Like what?”
“Well, we know you went to the river with him for a picnic and a bunch of kids came up and you went to sleep. We got that because one of the kids had to take a leak and found you sleepin’ and saw the picnic stuff. He’s Oma Fay’s nephew and he told Kent so Kent could tease Rye when he gets back from Mesquite. We want to know if Rye kissed you yet or if you been to bed with him. That would be a real biggy that them other women don’t know because Rye wouldn’t tell Kent jack shit,” Molly said.
“Good girls don’t kiss and tell,” Austin played coy.
“We don’t give a damn about good girls. Did you sleep with him yet? I’d love to be the first one to know that bit of news. Oma Fay would have a shittin’ hemorrhage if we found out when you sleep with him before she does. I bet if you do you don’t ever leave Terral, not even for one day.”
Austin fought the grin so hard that her mouth hurt. “I did not sleep with him. But I’ll tell you something so you won’t be the white trash cousins. We have a date tonight. We’re going to eat Chinese and go to a movie up in Duncan.”
“Don’t wear that outfit,” Molly said seriously.
“What should I wear? I only brought this, two more suits, and some capris,” she said.
Greta pointed toward the back of the drugstore. “Go on up the road toward Waurika. Over on the left hand side of the road is a consignment shop where you can buy some decent jeans and shirts. Might even be able to pick up a pair of broke-in cowboy boots and a hat. Stuff is cheap enough that if you only use it this next week and then trash it, it’ll be worth it.”
Austin raised an eyebrow. “A consignment shop?”
That’s one thing she sure wouldn’t tell her mother. If she ever found out her daughter had bought a wardrobe out of a secondhand store she would have her committed for sure.
“Yeah, it’s a red barn place. Everyone in these parts calls it the red barn but I think it’s got a name like the Clothes Closet or something like that. I forget what it is in the phone book. I buy lots of things in there,” Molly said.
“She could shop in New York City with all the money she’s got, but she’s so tight, she squeezes her pennies so hard, it makes Abraham Lincoln cry,” Greta said.
“Why would I want them big city clothes? I’m old and shapeless and I’m damned sure not going to punish my fat cells with a girdle. I burned all my Lycra years ago and I’ll be damned if I go buy another one. Them things weren’t nothing but torture. I’m sure a man invented them and the bra,” Molly said.
Greta poked Austin on the shoulder. “In our day no self-respectin’ woman would be caught at a dog fight without her Playtex Living Girdle. You don’t know how good you got it, girl.”
“Okay give me advice, girls. What should I wear tonight?” Austin asked.
Molly laid her spoon down and got serious. “Pair of them hip slung tight fittin’ jeans, boots, and a knit shirt that’s a size too little to make them boobs look bigger and your waist even smaller. A good lookin’ belt with a big buckle that sparkles so his eyes will go to your waist and his hands will itch to undo the belt. Some of them under britches that wouldn’t sag a clothes line even if they was soppin’ wet. What do they call ’em, Greta?”
Greta touched her chin with her finger and made a thinking face. “Not bikinis. Thongs! That’s it. Sounds funny, don’t it, since we call our flip-flop shoes that name. But wear some of them things with a string up in your ass and a little lace patch over Miss Lily.”
Austin blushed scarlet. “Over who?”
“That’s what we call it because we are too old-fashioned to call it by the name in the medical book,” Molly whispered.
“Old-fashioned? You two?” Austin asked.
“We’re old and we can say anything we want and get away with it but some things is too much even for us,” Greta said. “Now you’ve finished your ice cream so get on out of here and run up to the consignment shop and get yourself all dolled up for the night. I can’t wait to get home and call Pearlita and tell her that we know something before she does.”
Austin slipped her feet into the spike heels and paid for all their ice cream on the way out of the drugstore. She backed out of the diagonal parking space and drove a block up the street, made a U-turn, and drove back down to the stop sign. She had no intentions of going to a secondhand store. She might make a fast trip to Nocona, Texas, to the western wear store if she had time. But when the coast was clear she turned left toward Waurika instead of the right toward Terral. It was as if her car and her heart were joined together and overrode all her better judgments.
Ten minutes later her bright red ’Vette was parked in front of a big red barn-looking building. She eased out of her car and went inside the store to find racks and racks of clothes. Bewildered, she stared at the whole place and wondered where to even start since she only had half an hour.
“Could I help you, honey?” the lady behind the counter asked.
“Jeans?”
“What are you? About a seven?”
“With a long, long inseam.”
She pointed to the right. “Racked up by size. Your size will be at the far end. Either try them on or hold them up to your side. Dressing rooms are to the far left. You sure you are in the right place?”
“Molly and Greta sent me.”
“Oh! Well, come right on. I’ll help you,” she said enthusiastically.
Half an hour later there were six pair of jeans, a belt with a flashy buckle shaped like interlocking hearts, two pairs of boots (Barbara would get severe acute diarrhea if she knew her daugh
ter was putting her feet into someone else’s boots, but the lady said she knew the woman who’d owned them and they were good), five knit shirts with different screen prints on the front, and six western blouses. One of the blouses was stretch lace and had flouncing ruffles on the sleeves.
She almost fainted when the lady added it all up and the total price was less than a hundred dollars. She couldn’t have bought the blouse for that amount at the dress shop where she shopped in Tulsa.
“Thank you for all your help,” she said as the clerk ran her credit card through the machine.
“Thank you for the biggest sale I’ve had all day. Tell Molly and Greta hello for me. They send a lot of customers my way. By the way, who are you, so I can tell them that you were here?”
“Austin Lanier. I’m Verline Lanier’s granddaughter.”
“Oh, my! I sure do miss Granny. She did a lot of business with me. Bought nearly all of her overalls in here. I miss her advice. I’d have left my husband if she hadn’t convinced me to give him another chance,” the woman said.
“Really?”
“Yep. She said to give him one more chance and if he went back to drinking then she’d whip his sorry ass for me. I live between Terral and Ryan. She got me the job working here two days a week, too. Verline was a wonderful woman.”
“Yes, she was. Thank you for sharing that with me.” Austin signed the credit card slip and carried her bag outside. She tossed the brown paper bag into the passenger’s seat and giggled. “I’ll have to get those fancy under britches for Miss Lily when I get to a Victoria’s Secret, girls. I’m not wearing hand-me-down underpants.”
Chapter 10
Austin rushed home, carried her secondhand clothing into the house, and dumped them on the floor beside the washing machine. She crammed all the jeans inside the machine, added liquid detergent, and turned it on.
Then she paid the hired hands and listened with half an ear as Felix told her the rain was supposed to pass on through that night and the weekend would dry the land out so they could get back to planting on Monday.
Monday, she was supposed to be back at work in Tulsa. She would not think about that. Rye was coming home and she had to be ready for a date with him.
When the washer had finished its cycle, she tossed the jeans into the dryer, reset the washer on delicate, and tossed in the shirts. She was ironing a pair of jeans when her cell phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and answered on the third ring.
“Where were you? I was getting worried when you didn’t answer on the second ring. Is everything all right down there in the land-that-stood-still?” her mother said.
“Mother, I can take care of myself.”
“Are you on your way home?”
“I’m ironing jeans for a date tonight.”
“Don’t tease me, Austin!”
“I’m not. Molly and Greta, that’s two of Granny’s old friends, and I had banana splits at the drugstore in Ryan today and they told me about this cute little shop called The Red Barn. I bought jeans and boots for tonight’s date with Rye. We’re going for Chinese and then a movie.” She punched the speaker button and laid the phone on the windowsill beside the ironing board.
Total silence on the other end made her think her cell phone had gone dead.
“Mother?”
“I’m here.”
“Mother, I’m coming home in a couple of days. Stop worrying.”
“You’ve come so far in your career. I hate to see you throw it all away for a watermelon farm.”
Austin rolled her eyes. She hated trying to reason with her mother because the guilt trip would follow and that’s what she really, really hated.
“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m going out on a date with a really hunky cowboy. I deserve it after a hard week in the fields.”
“I don’t have to remind you that you are the only grandchild my mother and father have too. I’ve made plans for Sunday. We are having a family dinner right here. Both of your aunts are coming and your grandparents. Promise me you’ll be here. We’re eating at seven. That will give you plenty of time to drive home and get ready.”
“I will be there,” she said but her blue eyes did a double roll.
And her heart took a tumble down past her knees to the floor. Did she really want to go to Tulsa or plant watermelons?
“Good!” Barbara’s voice was suddenly chipper. “Your boss came in today to look at a new car for his wife. He mentioned that he’s looking forward to retirement in six months and that he knows you will do fine when they promote you to department supervisor. I’m so proud of you. To think my child is going to be in charge of operations at the oldest oil company in Tulsa when she’s only thirty. Your grandparents are going to be so, so happy when we tell them on Sunday.”
“Mother, I’ve got to get these jeans finished and my shirt is almost dry and I have to iron it too. I’ve got to go or I won’t be ready when Rye gets here.”
“Enjoy your fling, darlin’. You should have something out of the sorriest vacation of your entire career. See you on Sunday for dinner.”
“I told you I’ll be there. Stop worrying about me. Good-bye, Mother.”
She’d barely hung up when the phone rang again. She pushed the button, left it on speaker, and said, “Hello.”
“Hi, sweetie, it’s Aunt Joan. I’m told we’re having a family dinner. Was wondering if you want to go shopping tomorrow for something new to wear to the affair? I hear Neiman’s has a sale going.” Her voice was almost identical to Barbara’s but had a very, very slight nasal twang. All of the Watson girls looked as if they’d been popped out of the same mold: dark-haired beauties with blue eyes and built on a tall, slim frame that was stunning in business suits.
Without even shutting her eyes, Austin could imagine her Aunt Joan in her quaint little two-story house on five acres of prime land in Memphis, Tennessee. She was ten years older than Barbara, which made her sixty-two years old.
“Wow!” Austin said when she realized Aunt Joan was close to retirement age.
“So we’ll do Neiman’s and have lunch then?”
“No, I won’t be home until Sunday. How long are you staying in Tulsa?”
“I’m just flying over for the weekend. Your mother tells me you are taking care of selling your grandmother’s farm? Never met her but I’m sorry you’ve got to waste your vacation time like that.”
“Thank you. I’ll look forward to seeing you then on Sunday at the dinner.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Ironing jeans. I found this cute little shop called The Red Barn and it’s got really reasonable prices. I’ve got a date tonight with the hunky cowboy rancher who lives across the street.”
“Why are you ironing jeans? Don’t they have a dry cleaner in town?”
Austin laughed. “Terral has a population of three hundred and eighty-six at last count. They barely have a grocery store and the school only goes to eighth grade.”
Joan gasped. “Sweet Jesus!”
“Take a week and fly into Dallas. I’ll pick you up and you can help me plant watermelons. Driving a tractor is a lot of fun and even though you are tired at the end of the day, you’ll feel like you’ve accomplished something.”
“Gotta run, darlin’. See you at the dinner. Don’t do anything foolish. Good-bye,” Joan spoke so fast that Austin only caught every other word.
She’d barely finished ironing the jeans when the phone rang again. Before she answered it she laid the creased jeans on the top of the washer and jerked the lacy western cut blouse from the dryer. It looked good enough that she didn’t need to iron it so she put it on a hanger and punched the speaker button.
“Hello.”
“Hi. I was about to hang up or leave a message. This is your Aunt Clydia. Where are you? Still at work?”
“You know where the hell I am. Mother called, didn’t she?”
“She’s worried about you. Thirty is a tough age and you’ve got this promot
ion and all the responsibility that will go with it. She’s afraid you’ll throw everything away on a whim,” Clydia said sternly. She was a year younger than Joan but a hundred times bossier and a thousand times more serious. A smile might ruin every Botox injection she’d ever had and she wasn’t taking any chances on that.
“I’ve got a date tonight with the sexiest cowboy this side of the Red River. He’s got muscles across his chest that would make even your hormones go into overdrive and his kisses are like heaven. When his big old callused hands touch my bare back I want to roll over like a puppy and let him do anything he wants to my body.” Austin smiled when she heard Clydia suck air.
“What? Are you serious? You are teasing me because you think I’m interfering in your life, aren’t you? For God’s sake, Austin, you weren’t raised to talk like that or…” Clydia stammered.
“Or what?”
“You better keep your goals in your sights and not do anything stupid.” Clydia quickly regained her superior status after the stuttering tirade.
“I’ll see you Sunday. If I’m smiling you’ll know I got lucky.”
“Good God!” Clydia hung up without a good-bye.
“Jesus is sweet. God isn’t good; He’s great. Beer is good. And people are the crazy ones according to that country song I heard on the radio. I’m damn glad I don’t have but two aunts or I’d never get ready on time,” she told Rascal, who had curled up on top of the dryer.
The house phone rang at seven o’clock just as she was slipping her feet into the buff-colored boots she’d bought that day. She reached for it and propped it on her shoulder, hoping she could get rid of whoever was calling quickly because Rye would be there any minute.
“Hello,” she said cautiously.
“I’m running about ten minutes late.”
Rye’s deep Texas voice sent shivers all the way to her toes.
“No problem. I’m just now getting my boots on.”
“I was expecting you to have on those high-heeled things but boots sure does draw up a pretty picture in my head. I can’t wait to see you. Be there in ten.”
She made one more run to the bathroom mirror to check her makeup and hair and was on the way down the hall when she heard the crunch of truck tires in the driveway. Boot heels sounded on the wooden porch and she swung the door open to find Gemma, her eyes swollen and her face a mess from crying.
Love Drunk Cowboy Page 17
