by Sandra Hill
“The best part is, once Thanksgiving’s over, we can start decoratin’ fer Christmas. Dontcha jist love this time of year?”
Where in God’s name am I going to find Christmas decorations? Charlie Lanier was a nice old man, but Scrooge when it came to sentimental things, like Christmas. There probably isn’t a string of lights or a tree ornament on the whole place. Charmaine had to stop this Cajun train, which was Tante Lulu once she got an idea in her head, before it went any farther. “Now, just wait a minute here, Tante Lulu. You can’t come here and—”
A dial tone rang in Charmaine’s ear. Tante Lulu had hung up on her.
Rusty is going to kill me.
Was that laughing she heard out on the front porch? Had Rusty or one of the guys come back?
Nope, she decided, after going out to check. The only one there was St. Jude.
One ringy-dingy, two ringy-dingy . . .
The phone rang again a short time later, which meant Charmaine had to climb down from the ladder in the middle of the kitchen. She had been cleaning the ceiling fan.
“Hello,” she snapped churlishly the instant she picked up the phone.
“Charmaine, what the hell are you doing answering the phone? I specifically ordered you not to answer the phone.” It was Rusty.
Like you have the right to order me to do anything. “Then what the hell are you doing calling me?”
“It was a mistake. I meant to call Clarence’s cell phone.”
Likely story. You missed me, buddy. Admit it. “Where are you anyway?”
“I’m in town. We ran out of fence nails.”
“Can you bring home some extra milk?”
After a long pause, he said, “You sound like a wife, Charmaine.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“That is a bad thing.”
“Screw the milk then.”
“I’ll get the damn milk.”
She hung up on him.
And she didn’t even bother to look toward St. Jude. She knew he would be tsk-ing.
One ringy-dingy, two ringy-dingy . . .
“What now?” she yelled into the phone when it rang several moments later.
“You picked up the phone again,” Rusty yelled back.
“What? Now, you’re checking up on me?”
“Damn right I am. Do . . . not . . . pick . . . up . . . the . . . freakin’ . . . phone. Was that clear enough for you?”
“Sure. Is this clear enough for you? Go . . . to . . . hell!”
She hung up on him again.
Next time the phone rang she didn’t pick it up, but not because he’d told her not to. She didn’t pick it up because she knew it was him again, trying to get the last word in, and she wanted to annoy him.
There were a half dozen other calls after that, but she turned on the answering machine. People from various oil companies were attempting to contact Rusty. Surprise, surprise.
A cowboy’s day is never done . . .
It was seven o’clock before they got back to the ranch house, and the four of them were bone-weary and discouraged with all the work they’d done that day . . . and all the work they’d never gotten to. The Triple L needed more cowboys, at least on a part-time basis, but Raoul just didn’t have the cash for that.
“I’ll meet you back at the house in a half hour,” Raoul told Clarence, Linc, and Jimmy. “After we wash up, we can eat.”
“I swear, I’m gonna fall in my bed tonight,” Clarence said. “But I caint, not without showerin’ first, since Charmaine put clean sheets on my bed. Not that I’m complainin’, mind you.”
“She dusted and waxed my guitar,” Linc added. “No one never dusted and waxed my guitar before.”
Apparently, waxing must not be the norm for guitars, Raoul thought, chuckling. But Linc would never dare tell that to Charmaine. Instead, he’d probably hide his instrument.
“I hope Charmaine made somethin’ good fer dinner.” Jimmy licked his lips in anticipation.
Raoul hated the fact that Charmaine had insinuated herself into all their lives after only three days here. Even he brightened at the prospect of seeing her again, and it wasn’t her food that hot-damn lured him.
Linc ruffled Jimmy’s dusty hair. “Well, it’s not meat loaf leftovers, for sure. You ate all that last night.”
Jimmy ducked his head and blushed. Amazing how Jimmy could switch personalities so quickly and so often . . . a regular teenage Dr. Jekyll. Today he’d gone into a cursing rage because he’d been hot and tired and wanted to go for a swim. A swim at this time of the year and in the middle of a job! Talk about! He’d even thrown a few wild punches at Linc when he’d tried to chastise him. And now, he went all red-faced and flustered like any typical kid when teased over a lousy meat loaf. Raoul would like to see Charmaine’s reaction if he ever acted out around her. Whoo-boy!
As he entered the house, Raoul heard Charmaine bustling around the kitchen. He called out to her, “We’re back,” but went immediately to the bathroom without waiting for her reply. He did a double take at what he saw. Her stuff was everywhere. Along the lip of the tub were a pink razor, lilac shaving gel, scented liquid soap, something called hydrating lotion and three different shampoos and conditioners. On the small counter next to the sink, he could barely find his electric razor, what with her blow dryer, combs, round brushes of different sizes, a cosmetics bag the size of Vermont, and a bottle of Obsession perfume. He sniffed the latter and realized that it was the same scent she’d worn all those years ago. And, yes, Obsession about said it all, at least on his part.
Looking around the small, suddenly overcrowded bathroom, he realized that Charmaine was taking over his space . . . literally. Putting her mark on every bit of his home. Okay, their home.
Opening the medicine cabinet to get a much-needed aspirin, he got another jolt. A little round plastic case containing a month’s supply of birth control pills. Now, why would a born-again virgin need birth control pills? And since she claimed not to have had a date in six months and her new virginity presumably started only a week ago and three weeks worth of pills had already been consumed, a guy could only wonder.
I should not be wondering. I should not care. I need to focus, to prioritize. And Charmaine cannot, will not, be a top priority of mine. No way! He sighed deeply at the jumble Charmaine was making of his life.
After a really long, hot shower, he picked up all his dirty clothes and put them in the hamper. He didn’t want Charmaine picking up after him. Next she’d be waxing things he didn’t want waxed. Then he wrapped a towel around his middle and walked to his bedroom.
He was tempted to lie down on the bed with its clean quilt and take a nap, but he knew he wouldn’t wake till morning. And his stomach was growling with hunger.
Dropping his towel, he went to his underwear drawer and pulled out a pair of briefs. He paused at the scent of flowers that wafted up from the drawer, where she’d neatly arranged all his folded briefs in two long rows. “Jesus!” he murmured under his breath. Flowers! My underwear smells like flowers. He soon realized the cause. Charmaine had placed a dryer sheet in the drawer, something she used to do when they were still married. When they were still married and living together as man and wife, he corrected himself.
He noticed something else at the bottom of the drawer. Their framed wedding picture, which he’d placed there a long time ago. He took it out and gazed at it. They’d run away and eloped. No big wedding with long white gown and fancy tuxedo. He’d worn a plain black suit and dark tie. Charmaine had worn a pink frothy dress with long sleeves and a ruffled hem that ended just below her knees. Sheer stockings ended in pink, high-heeled sandals, which she’d worn for him later that night, with nothing else. She’d been nineteen and he’d just turned twenty-one. So young and so damn good looking, both of them. They stared at each other with so much love it made his heart ache.
He exhaled with disgust at his maudlin reverie and placed the photograph back in the drawer, under the briefs. Charm
aine had to have seen it when she’d straightened out his drawers. What had she thought?
Enough dwelling on the past! He pulled on his briefs, a pair of clean jeans and T-shirt, ran a brush through his too-long hair, saw that he needed a shave as well as a haircut, but was too tired to do anything about either one. Then he walked to the kitchen in his bare feet.
His eyes about bugged out at the scene before him. Everyone, including Charmaine, sat around the kitchen table which was covered with a tablecloth today. God only knew where Charmaine had found a tablecloth. Two mismatched, lit candles, one blue and one green, sat at either end. A huge tureen filled with what looked and smelled like chicken gumbo held center stage, flanked by about five quarts of dirty rice, corn bread, some kind of lettuce-and-tomato salad, and a pitcher of iced sweet tea. A be-still-my-heart bread pudding cooled on the stove next to a pot of steaming coffee.
The whole scene was something out of The Waltons TV show. She’s killing me here. With kindness, for chrissake. And birth control pills, and lilac shaving gel, and folded underwear, and Obsession perfume.
“Well, dontcha wanna say sumpin?” Clarence prodded him.
“Uh, everything looks great. Dig in. Don’t wait for me.”
He glanced over at Charmaine as he spoke and added a silently mouthed “Thank you” just for her. Her response was a little curtsy move with her shoulders.
She sat at one end of the table looking all prettified in full makeup with her hair pulled back off her face with a white ribbon. The white ribbon matched her white shirt, which, for once, had no suggestive logo. It didn’t need one. He could see her bra through the thin material. In fact, he could see the lace details on her bra. It was giving him all the suggestive messages he needed and a few he didn’t need.
Charmaine was buttering him up for something. He would bet his boots on that. Maybe she just wanted to make up for hanging up on him today . . . twice. Or maybe she planned something else. It was always best to be on guard with Charmaine.
At first, they all ate in silence, satisfying their ravenous hunger and their appreciation for the fine food.
“Jimmy, we gotta have a talk,” Linc said. “Today you had a tantrum when we wouldn’t let you quit in the middle of a job to go swimmin’. Yesterday, you foul-mouthed that sheriff when he was askin’ questions ’bout the dead steers. I admit, the sheriff was rude, but you gotta learn to curb that tongue of yers.”
Jimmy glanced toward Charmaine, embarrassed to be reprimanded in front of her. Then he lashed out at Linc. “Yer not my dad. I doan have to do what you say.”
Raoul saw the shock on Charmaine’s face as she halted halfway between the stove and the table. She was carrying the coffeepot in one hand and the bread pudding in the other.
Before Raoul could speak, Clarence said, “Now, boy, that’ll be enough of that kind of talk.”
Jimmy started to rise from the table, to flee God-only-knew where.
Putting a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, Raoul forced the boy to sit back down.
“Take yer hands off me, ya scummy ex-con.”
Everyone was taken aback by Jimmy’s unprovoked anger, especially Charmaine, apparently, because she slammed the coffeepot and dessert dish on the table and stormed around to Jimmy’s side. Poking a forefinger in his face, she said, “Listen up, you snot-nosed punk. No one talks to Rusty that way. He’s been nothing but kind to you. If you haven’t concluded by now that he was framed, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”
Holy shit! Charmaine is coming to my defense like a bleepin’ pit bull. Who would have ever imagined? And, dammit, does she think I’m so helpless I can’t defend myself against a teenager? He couldn’t stop himself from grinning.
Pulling Charmaine away and tucking her behind him, he addressed poor Jimmy, whose eyes were brimming with tears. The kid adored Charmaine and had to be hurt by her attack. He knew from experience that the kid was about to bolt. “Listen, we’re not your father, but he gave us the authority. It was either that or send you to juvie hall. Now, you’re gonna toe the line, or suffer the consequences. Do you understand?”
Jimmy’s lower lip protruded with rebellion, but he nodded.
“First off, you are going to apologize to Linc.”
To Jimmy’s credit, he appeared shamedfaced. “I’m sorry, Linc. But I ain’t no snot-nosed punk.” He looked accusingly at Charmaine, who stood to his side now.
“I know that, honey. You were just behaving like a snot-nosed punk.” Charmaine gave Jimmy a big hug. When she was done, Raoul held out his arms for her to give him a big hug, too, but she walked right past him, sniffing her disdain. Clarence snorted with disgust at his lack of finesse and Linc hid a grin behind his hand.
After that, they dug into Charmaine’s dessert and devoured every bit of it. He noticed that Jimmy got an extra large serving.
“Where’d you get the chicken for the gumbo?” he asked Charmaine, just making conversation to take the attention away from Jimmy. “Dare I hope it was one of those mean roosters that’ve been strutting around out front?”
“Yep. Clarence came up and killed one for me. Even plucked and gutted it. I never would have been able to do it myself.” Charmaine patted Clarence’s shoulder as she picked up the empty dessert dishes.
The old cowboy beamed under her compliment.
“By the way, your girlfriend called today.”
Anyone else would think that Charmaine’s remark had come out of the blue, but not Raoul. He knew damn well she had planned its timing with precision.
“My girlfriend?” Raoul drawled out.
“Musta been Rita,” Jimmy said. “The waitress at The Horny Bull.”
Charmaine pinched his shoulder. Hard.
Raoul shot Jimmy a dirty look, but Jimmy just batted his eyelashes at him. Retribution came in any form for a fifteen-year-old.
Charmaine narrowed her eyes at him. The expression on her face pretty much put him in the category of . . . well, horny bulls. “No, it wasn’t Rita. It was Am-el-ie.”
Is Charmaine jealous? Is that possible? Hmmm. “Amelie?” he inquired with a frown, though he knew perfectly well who she referred to.
“Puh-leeze. Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Oh, you mean Amelie Ancelet.”
“Doctor Am-el-ie Ancelet. Am-el-ie made sure she pointed out to me that she’s a doctor. I’m surprised she didn’t spell it for me. You know, we bimbos aren’t all that smart.”
Raoul laughed. Charmaine really was jealous. Now, wasn’t that an interesting turn of events?
Charmaine made a little feral growl in her throat, like a wildcat. “She said to remind you about your date Saturday night.”
“What date?”
“Puh-leeze,” she said again, and for sure her fangs were about to come out. “The party.”
“Oh. That party.”
“Yes, the party, you moron.”
Clarence, Linc and Jimmy were pivoting their heads back and forth like bobble heads, enjoying the interchange between the two of them. They’d have something to talk about when they went back to the bunkhouse tonight.
Moron, huh? He grinned at the vehemence of the epithet she gave him. Somehow, Charmaine made moron sound sexy. “Her father, Cletus Ancelet, is retiring after forty years as the town veterinarian. Amelie is taking over his practice,” he explained. “Anyhow, a big barbecue bash is being held to celebrate Cletus’s retirement.”
“How nice!”
I shouldn’t be teasing Charmaine like this. “Amelie is just a friend.”
“Hah! Some men can’t see past the smoke some women blow in their faces. Morons! All of them.”
“Amelie and I met in medical school. Being from Cajun backgrounds and sharing an interest in animal studies, it was natural that . . . What the hell are you all thinking?”
Clarence, Linc and Jimmy were laughing outright now, with Clarence slapping his knee with glee. He probably figured arguing with Charmaine was two steps away from making her bowlegged.
“And how do you and your cows feel about helicopters?” she asked him way too sweetly, with utter irrelevance.
“Huh?”
“Helicopters? Do your cows mind when helicopters land in their backyard? Do they stop milking or something?”
I sense a little payback coming up. “Hell, yes, they mind. But, Charmaine, there’s something you need to know if you’re going to hang around this ranch. I don’t have a dairy farm. This is a cattle ranch.”
She waved a hand airily, as if there were no difference between a milk cow and a beef steer. But then she frowned. “Are you saying I’m a dumb bimbo who can’t understand the difference between a cow and a bull?”
“I never used the word ‘bimbo.’” Man, she is obsessed with that one single time I called her a bimbo. Why is it women never forget the things we men say? We forget the things women say right after they leave their mouths.
“Oooh, boy, you are asking for it. I do not like your attitude.”
“Attitude? I don’t have an attitude.” You are the one who is reeking with attitude, but I don’t think I’ll point that out right now.
“I’m sensing an attitude. And, for your information, buster, I happen to know the difference between a cow and a bull. One has udders and the other has balls. So there!”
Everyone burst out laughing then, except Charmaine, who looked as if she was about to windmill her right arm and sock him a good one.
This was absolutely the most ridiculous conversation, and even though his three workers were enjoying it immensely, he had to put a stop to it. “Um, could we backtrack here? You mentioned a helicopter. Is someone going to land a helicopter on the ranch?”
“Maybe.” She averted her eyes guiltily.
“Maybe? Like maybe who? No, don’t tell me. Your half brother Remy. He’s coming here, right?”
Charmaine nodded with a little gloating smile that turned up her red lips. Jimmy got his revenge by bringing up Rita the hottie waitress. Charmaine got her kicks popping these surprises on him.
I shouldn’t ask. I really shouldn’t. “Why?”
