One Lucky Cowboy

by Carolyn Brown

  "Guess so."

  "Why in the hell don't you just call that woman? You can't tell us you weren't thinking about her," Marty said.

  "Don't have any idea who you are talkin' about," Slade growled.

  "Yes, you do. Call her and sell me that Mustang. I've drooled over it a whole week. I've got money saved for a down payment and I'll work for the rest or go to the bank. Dad says he'll co-sign for me," Vincent said.

  "Why don't the whole bunch of you leave me alone?" Slade said as he carried his plate to the trash can and went back to work.

  "Think he'll get over her?" Marty asked.

  "I hope not," Ellen said. "I hope it eats at him until one morning we wake up and that Mustang is gone to Mississippi."

  "Well, if it is, I hope it comes back and he sells it to me. That is one sweet little car," Vince said.

  "Boy, you need a pickup, not a sweet little car," one of the other hired hands said. "In my day if we'd talked like that someone would have brought out some starch for our wrist."

  "What? Oh! You are crazy. I'm a ladies man. That's why I want the car. Just think how many chicks I can pick up in that ride. Every kid in this area has a truck. I'd be special with that car," Vince said.

  "Dream on," Ellen said. "Until he gets over Jane that car won't budge."

  "Where does she live? I'll go bring her back here myself if it'll help old Slade stop that mooning around every night. Sometimes I expect him to start howling at the moon, the way he just sits there," Vince said.

  "Come on, kid. Let's go back to work. Cars or trucks don't have a thing to do with how them cows are going to get from one pasture to the other before dark," Marty said.

  Nellie wore a flowing broomstick skirt in a red bandana print with a matching red T-shirt and red kid leather sandals. Her gray hair was freshly washed and curled around her face. Ellen was dressed in her trademark "loud, cheap, and sassy," as she called it with her hair done up in a red puff with lots of hairspray.

  Slade took a fast shower and put on a pair of soft jeans, the T-shirt with a dolphin on the front that he'd gotten in San Antonio, and his old worn boots. He combed his wet hair with his fingertips and didn't even bother with cologne. He settled into a recliner in the living room and read a J.A. Jance book entitled Failure to Appear while he waited on the ladies to make their appearance.

  "Is our chauffeur ready?" Ellen asked as she swirled into the living room in a gauze skirt of bright orange with yellow lilies.

  "He is."

  "And what is he going to do while we are dancing the leather off our shoes?" Nellie asked.

  "He's going to read in the truck. It's a fairly pleasant evening and I've got this new contraption Jane picked up in Galveston. It's a booklight. You just snap it on the top of the book and it sheds enough light to read by. So you ladies can flirt to your hearts content, and I'll get old Jonas Beaumont out of this predicament."

  "Sounds like a real excitin' evenin' to me," Ellen groaned.

  "Why don't you just call her?" Nellie asked.

  "She knows my number and where I live. She's got a lot on her mind to work out. It could be that we were just drawn together because we damned near got killed so many times. We sure didn't like each other before that, so who's to say we would afterwards? Time will tell," he said.

  "Sure, for you. But we're two old women who might not have so much of that precious commodity called time. Humor us and call her," Nellie said.

  "Tell you what. If in six months she hasn't called me, I'll humor you and call her. That's my final word on it. Now are we going to go to the Silver Saddle, or stand here fussing about Jane?"

  He drove them to the dance hall and watched as they went inside. He was the adult and his grandmother and aunt were the youngsters. The roles had reversed and he felt old. They'd dance, have a few drinks, and talk about the fun they'd had for days. He'd sit in the truck and wait to drive them back home like a dutiful father figure.

  Opening his book, he found the right page, clipped the light to the cover, turned the switch, and presto, enough light to read by. It was an ingenious invention that Jane assured him was not anything new but had been on the market for years.

  He sighed and tried to read but his mind wandered. He really should sell the Mustang to Vince. The boy wanted it and it was crazy to just let it sit out there under the stars. But every time he looked at it he remembered all the good times they'd had that week living on the edge, running from an assassin. Who would have thought Slade Luckadeau would be a knight shining Mustang? Maybe in six months he'd be ready to get rid of it.

  He made himself look at the words and read. He liked the J.P. Beaumont better than the Joanna Brady series and had picked up every one he could find as he traveled home the previous week from Mississippi. He wondered if Jane was reading a Jance mystery that evening.

  It took a few minutes of severe concentration but soon he was in the middle of the book following every move Jonas made. An hour later the words began to blur and his head drooped down on his chest. The little light burned on but Slade was dreaming of a burning house out in the corner of Oklahoma and Texas. Jane had kept up with him, her hand in his, and she'd even stepped up and helped get rid of that cell phone. They made a good team when they were scared out of their wits and on the run. When it came to plain, routine, everyday living, the story might be altogether different. In his dream he replayed the whole night up to the time he crawled into bed with her in that motel in Childress.

  They were both too tired for anything to happen after they went to bed but his dream played in a different way. He could feel Jane's body plastered next to his, could smell the beer on her breath and her hands slipping up under his T-shirt to touch the hair on his chest. His eyes fluttered. God, he didn't want to wake up. Dreams were at least better than the nothing he'd have if he opened his eyes.

  "Oh, darlin', I've missed you. I'm so sorry I was so mean," Jane said.

  "I missed you, too," he whispered.

  Her lips brushed across his but something didn't seem right. When Jane kissed him every nerve in his body wanted more. These kisses left him feeling like he should clean his mouth with alcohol. He opened his eyes wide but at such close quarters all he could see was double images of mascara-coated eyelashes. Her hands began to fiddle with his belt buckle. He reached up and pushed back on her shoulders and not six inches away, her back plastered against the steering wheel, was Kristy.

  "Good. Now you're fully awake, we can get more comfortable. Let me get this bra off," she said.

  "Don't bother," he said through clenched teeth.

  "Did I upset the baby waking him up? Well, I'll make it up to you, darlin'." She kept tugging at the back of her shirt trying to pull it free from skin-tight jeans.

  He opened the door and practically fell out, his book and light landing on the ground beside the truck. "I said, 'don't bother.'"

  "What's the matter with you? That woman left you high and dry. Don't you realize she's too good for the likes of a plain old farmer? But I'm not, Slade. I promise I won't be ugly anymore. Come on back in the truck, honey. Let me show you how much I love you."

  "Go home, Kristy. I don't love you."

  "But darlin' I love you enough for both of us. Let me prove it. We just never did get to bed. Once we do, you'll see how good I can be," she giggled.

  "You're drunk."

  "But not so much I don't know how to please a man."

  "Go home. I'm not interested."

  "Well, don't ever say you didn't get one last chance. Stay on out there on the Double L and pine away for some rich bitch you can't have. See if I care." She stumbled out of the truck, stepping on the little light he'd dropped, and weaved across the parking lot to her uncle's Cadillac.

  He picked up the booklight and held it in his hands as if it were a sparrow with a broken wing. In that moment he knew it was over, just like Kristy said, but it would take him months, possibly years, to get over the ache in his heart.

  Jane exercised several
horses that day and had a sore butt to prove it. She sank down into a deep tub full of bubbles and sighed, thinking about the day that she'd ridden with Slade all day on the Double L. She remembered verbatim the conversation they'd had and how he'd tried to trick her into giving out background information.

  She shut her eyes and envisioned him riding beside her, meeting every barb she threw out with one of his own. A smile tickled the corners of her mouth when she remembered rocking Kristy's jaw. She wondered if that witch had been sniffing around the ranch since Slade had gone back home.

  The phone rang and she reached across the edge of the tub to the bright red wall phone and picked it up. "Hello?" She almost crossed her fingers hoping it was Slade or at least Nellie.

  "Ellacyn, this is Celia. Am I forgiven yet?"

  "No, I don't think so."

  "Hey, he talked you into marrying him, and you're the most stable person on the earth. If he could do that, think how he could snow me? Remember, I'm the true blonde. And besides, I didn't sic him on you intention ally. I just wasn't too smart when it came to keeping my mouth shut when you called, and I am sorry."

  "Right-out-of-a-bottle blonde, you mean. The only way it's true is if the color on the box says True Blonde. You are forgiven but it'll take me longer than saying three words to forget that you didn't shut up when I told you to."

  "Thank you," Celia said. "Now that you aren't mad at me, could we do lunch? Or better yet, my new boyfriend has a friend who'd love to meet you. He's interested in horses and we could do a double on Friday. How does that sound?"

  Jane's hands went clammy and her stomach tied up in knots. She'd never trust a man again, not as long as she lived. If someone could sweet talk her into almost getting herself killed one time, it could damn sure happen again. The only man she'd ever put her trust in was Slade.

  "No thank you," Jane said.

  "Okay, as your newly forgiven friend, I'm going to put on my preaching robes. Ellacyn, you've got to get off that ranch. Sure, it was a sad thing that happened, but you aren't listed among the dead. You are still alive and it's time you stopped acting like the world has come to an end. You've been holed up there a whole week and not even been out to lunch with me and I'm your best friend. So I won't take no for an answer. If you are home on Friday night—that's two days away—you will be going out with me and my boyfriend. We'll pick you up at eight. Be ready and no excuses. Amen. Now you deliver the benediction," Celia said and hung up before Jane could tell her not only no, but hell no.

  "If I'm home on Friday. That's what you said and so this is the real benediction, darlin'. I won't be home. Final Amen!" Jane shouted into the silent cell phone.

  That word "home" is what set her to thinking. When she heard the word "home," a vision of the Double L came to mind: dinner on the deck with the hired hands gee-hawing over what they'd done or were going to do, how hot it was, how hungry they'd gotten; Nellie and Ellen arguing over the Silver Saddle dances; Slade, always Slade, exchanging barbs with her. That was home. The ranch was a place to live. The oil company a place to work. But home, like the old cliché said, was where the heart was.

  She rose up out of the bathtub with such speed that the water sluiced off in great waves. "Damn that Kristy hussy. If she's been out to the Double L causing trouble she'll just think I've rocked her jaw in the past. She'd best be keeping her sorry ass on her side of the property line." She wrapped a towel around her midsection and headed for the bedroom.

  She dug around in her purse for a business card. Holding the towel up by pinching it against her side under her arm, she punched in the numbers on the house phone.

  "Hello," James' voice said. "Is this Ellacyn Hayes?"

  "You've got caller ID—but no, this is Jane Day and I'm calling to see if you've got your money counted. I'm ready to negotiate."

  Chapter 16

  SLADE KEPT TIME WITH THE RADIO BY TAPPING HIS FINGERS on the steering wheel of the old work truck as he drove west toward Ringgold. Marty couldn't plow the south hundred acres with a broken-down tractor, so he'd driven to Nocona for tractor parts. When he reached the ranch, he bypassed the house and drove down to the field where Marty had taken off the broken pieces and sat in the shade of the tractor wheel.

  "Well, you look like you are in a better mood. Maybe we should send you for parts more often." Marty's brown eyes twinkled, lighting up his weathered face.

  "It won't last long," Slade said.

  Marty picked up the tractor part and searched in his toolbox for a screwdriver. "Women can be a good thing. Don't know what I'd do without Gloria; she's been my right arm for thirty years. But there's days when a woman will drive you crazy—like when she's arguin' about every little thing. Them days I could shoot her between the eyes and feed her to the coyotes. Then I get to thinkin' and feel guilty as hell for feelin' like that about the woman who's put up with my sorry ass for all these years."

  Sorry ass? That's what Jane had called Slade more than once. He'd just about sell his share in the Double L to a homeless soul for a dollar bill to see her pop her hands on her hips and call him that again. He'd consider giving the homeless fool fifty dollars to take it off his hands for a night like they'd shared after they'd had too many beers with whiskey chasers.

  "You got that look in your eye, son. You was thinkin' about her. It's been three weeks. Don't you think it's time you called her?"

  "She'll call me if she wants to talk," Slade said.

  "Good girls don't call boys. They wait for the boys to call them. Nellie has told you that often enough that it should have soaked in. Hold this right here and don't let it slip. We'll be 'til dinnertime gettin' this thing fixed."

  Slade held but he didn't comment.

  The sun was straight overhead, the August heat bearing down on them like an anvil by noon. They were dirty, greasy, and hungry, but the tractor was fixed and ready to plow all afternoon.

  "I'm glad for air-conditioned cabs, let me tell you," Marty said on the way in for dinner. "Why don't me and you invent a tractor with an automatic button that knows when to make the corners and keep a straight line? Then we could take a nap during the afternoons."

  "That'll probably happen but I hope not in my life time. I like ranchin' too well to give it all up to robots," Slade said.

  "Me, too, son. But today I wouldn't mind havin' a robot tractor. I feel my age."

  They parked at the back edge of the yard and washed up at the pump. The cold water felt good on Slade's arms and face. A soft summer breeze had kicked up by the time he'd dried off and headed for the dinner table. He stacked sandwiches on his plate and filled a bowl with chicken and dumplings. Two pans of brownies waited at the end of the table along with a big bowl of frozen peaches.

  "Will you sell me that Mustang now?" Vincent grinned from across the table.

  "Why would today be any different than yesterday or last week?" Slade asked.

  "More tea?" Jane asked from the back door.

  Slade's sandwich stopped midair. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

  "Working," she said. Her pulse raced. Her breath came in short spasms. It wasn't the reception she'd hoped for but it was one hundred percent bona fide Slade Luckadeau and that's the man she was in love with—not one who'd rush to her side, take her in his arms, and all but swoon. But one who couldn't get his sandwich to his mouth even though smart-ass remarks could come out of it.

  "Showed up on my doorstep this morning with a duffel bag and said she needed a job. She's proven she's damn good help, so I hired her. You got a problem with that?" Nellie asked.

  "Wouldn't do me a bit of good if I did, would it?" Slade asked.

  Ellen cut the brownies into generous squares. "You got that right."

  "More tea?" Jane asked again.

  "Love some, but you aren't working here, Ellacyn Hayes."

  "Ellacyn Hayes isn't but Jane Hayes is. You didn't hire me, cowboy, so you can't fire me. Move your old dirty arm over so I can set this tea pitcher down."

 
God, she felt good. Celia had been right two weeks before when she'd said Jane wasn't alive. Well, she was right then and by damn she didn't intend to quit living ever again.

  "The Mustang?" Vince pressured.

  "You can have the damn thing. It's yours. It needs a title and tag. You buy them and you can consider it your bonus for the summer's work," Slade said.

  Vince shouted so loud it scared the birds from the pecan tree and two squirrels set up a chattering to let everyone know the noise had interrupted their afternoon nap. "Can I drive it tonight? I got a hot date with my girlfriend. I been telling her about that car for three whole weeks."

  "I don't care what you do with it. Keys are in the ashtray. It's yours," Slade said.