This Time in Timberline
Page 6
Utah looked at Burl's as Forrest drove away. Mason was gone.
The sound of another vehicle made her look back at the road. Roanne parked her dark blue Volkswagen and got out. She was crying.
"Shit," Utah muttered, heading toward her. "What now?"
Roanne wailed and stretched her arms straight out. It was almost comical if she wasn't so upset. Utah took her into her arms while her friend erupted into sobs.
"What happened?"
"He...he...he went out...with...with her." Her breaths came fast and shallow between sobs.
"Who? Gwen?"
"Y...y...yyyes."
Utah leaned back. "Are you sure?"
Roanne nodded, tears dripping down her face. "I...saw them...go in...to Angler's last night."
"That slimy bastard!"
Roanne regained some of her control. "He doesn't even care that I left him."
"Come on, I'll drive you home." Utah stepped back.
"I don't want to go home."
Oh, no. She was in bad shape. Was it going to be junk food and a long talk night, or a night at the bar? "Where do you want to go? Is your grandmother okay?"
"I don't care. She yelled at me this morning."
Utah had to make sure her grandmother was all right. "We'll stop by there. You don't have to get out of the car. I'll go in and check on her. Then where? My house?"
Roanne shook her head back and forth. "Pit's."
Pits. Great. Utah shut the passenger door after Roanne got in and went around to the other side. Dang it. Pit's was a dive bar north of the Over Easy Café. The owner was nicknamed "Pit Bull" from his reputed list of LA street fight victories.
She called Andy and, after explaining, asked him to check on Roanne's grandmother.
"Be careful." Andy knew, as most others in town, that Pit's attracted a rough crowd. Most of its patrons lived in the trailer park northeast of town.
Roanne dried her tears and ran her thumbs beneath her eyes to clear the smudged mascara as Utah pulled into a parking space along the road near Pit's. She wasn't going to tell her it was obvious she'd been crying. At least the smudges were gone.
Utah followed Roanne to the front door of the bar, not wanting to go inside. Roanne swung the door with such energy that Utah had to catch it before it closed in front of her. Scowling at her friend's back, she stepped inside and looked around.
A juke box played a Tammy Wynette song. Four nicked and scratched tables were empty. Five of about ten barstools were occupied by men of varying shapes and sizes. One was twig thin. Another sat with his jeans sagging down his hips to reveal the first hint of his crack. A third had long hair starting from halfway down his otherwise bald head. Utah stopped looking when they all turned, a lead ball in her stomach. How did people like this thrive in small mountain towns? Two more men played pool at the far end of the bar. It was dark and the only thing charming about the place was the wood floor and brick walls.
They didn't, was the simplest answer to her question. She plopped onto a chair at the table closest to the door. Roanne sat beside her, seeming oblivious to the notice they'd attracted.
The bartender came to the table. "What can I git you gals?" His beard was untrimmed and graying. His eyes were beady and brown. He was bald. Tall and muscular, his physique was ruined by the protrusion of his belly. Utah tried not to judge but it was hard.
"A long island iced tea," Roanne said.
"Water for me."
The bartender nodded once and left to fill their order.
"I can't believe he went out with her," Roanne said. She looked so lost.
Utah didn't know what to say.
"What does he see in her?"
"Maybe he just got scared."
The bartender deposited their drinks and left. Roanne lifted what Utah thought was too big of a glass and gulped three swallows. Then put the glass down. "It's more than that."
"Getting drunk isn't going to help you."
"Yes, it will. I want to pass out so I don't feel anything anymore."
"You won't feel good tomorrow. And it'll just make you more depressed, too."
"I don't care. I'm going to be depressed anyway."
Utah knew when it was time to give up the battle with her friend. She watched Roanne take three more gulps. All she could do was stay with her and make sure she made it home safe. And listen.
And fight off any unwanted drunk men. She searched the crowd to make sure none of them were about to pounce. Safe for now.
"What was it about me that turned him off?" Roanne said into her drink.
Utah kept her affection from showing in a smile at her friend's self pity. "You're a beautiful woman, inside and out. It's his problem not yours."
"I'm not pretty like you," she said, still hanging her head over her glass, staring into the liquid she thought would ease her pain. "You could have any man you want."
"So can you. Stop being so self-defeating. You're pretty and you know it. Crooked teeth and all."
"Gee, thanks."
Utah sighed in frustration. "You know what I meant."
Roanne lifted her head and turned doleful eyes toward her. "My teeth are crooked and I wear a size twelve. No wonder Charlie doesn't want me."
"Get out of yourself. You're tall. If you were any smaller you'd be anorexic."
"You're just being nice."
"No, I'm not. I'm telling you the truth. Gwen has a bigger butt than you and she's shorter. Focus on that instead, okay?"
"She does not."
"Yes, she does. She bought jeans at Meredith's shop and they were a size sixteen."
"Who told you that?"
"My mother. I think she was trying to cheer me up."
A tiny smile lifted Roanne's mouth. "Sixteen, huh?"
"That's a big ass."
Roanne laughed. "It's bigger than Charlie's."
Utah laughed with her. "Charlie's is puny."
"I thought you didn't like the gossip here," Roanne managed to get out between laughs.
"I don't like it when it's about me."
Roanne's smile faded. "They'll forget about you and Arthur eventually."
"It doesn't matter. I know the truth and that's what counts."
"A lot of people in town believed your mother, Utah. It's just Megan and her friends having fun at your expense."
"I know."
The bartender appeared at their table again. He put two glasses down, one another long island iced tea, the other a water. "Compliments of that feller over there." He pointed toward the pool table.
A man in a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off grinned. He held a pool stick and his jeans had holes in the knees—and not by design. They looked like they were the only pair he owned.
"Hmm. Must be a big spender. Water is so expensive," Utah quipped. "Tell him thanks, but-"
"Hey," Roanne stopped her. "I want it."
"Roanne..." The man was bound to get ideas.
"I want the drink." She looked up at the bartender. "Tell him thank you very much."
The bartender grunted and with a parting scowl at Utah, turned to head for the man.
Roanne drained her first drink and pulled the second closer. Boy, was this going to be a long night.
###
Damn woman, Mason inwardly cursed as he stomped toward his dad's truck. Just when he'd resigned himself to a summer without her, his dad told him she went to Pit's with Roanne. He couldn't stay away. He had to make sure she was all right. Pit's attracted the worst in Timberline.
Passing Main on Third Street, he pulled off to the side to park. Out his driver's window, the yellow neon sign hung crooked over a rough wood door. The street light was burned out in front. A drunk man came stumbling out the door, swigging from a tall bottle of something the bartender must have given him in a paper bag. Law didn't mean much to Pit Bull in this small town. Mason would make sure his dad paid him a visit in the morning.
Mason stepped out of his dad's truck and crossed the deserted street
. The stars lit the night sky and sketched a dark, ragged outline where the mountainous terrain sloped down to the valley.
He stepped up on the curb and pushed open the bar door. Male laughter and the cheap sound of an old juke box greeted him. A country western song. He hated country. He grew up with country.
Utah stood before a table, batting an empty beer bottle against her palm. A glass of water and an untouched beer bottle were on the table. She was watching Roanne dance with a guy wearing sagging, dirty old jeans and a lusty grin. Roanne gyrated her hips, arms raised high, head lolling as if alcohol swished in her skull. Which it probably was.
Mason came up beside Utah. "What are you planning to do with that?"
Her head whipped toward him, the bottle going still against her palm. "Debating who needs a bonk over the head more, Roanne or that loser she's dancing with."
He took the bottle from her. "Leave the mediation to me."
"What are you doing here?"
"You called my dad."
"To ask him to make sure Roanne's grandmother was all right."
He left that alone. He was afraid any excuse would do to see her.
Roanne let the guy's hand travel too far over her ass as they danced close and every other man in the place had his eyes fixed on the sight.
Great. Just like old times. Utah was going to get him into a fight. After that first time when those boys had taken her bike, he'd found her with Rubin, a dropout one year younger than him. They were parked in a car in the picnic area at Lost Miner's Lake. Mason was walking home after being at a bonfire party across town. The road to his dad's passed the lake. He'd seen Rubin's Chevelle. Since everyone was keen on informing him everything Utah did and who she saw, he couldn't have stopped himself from going to investigate if a rockslide slid in his path.
Sure enough, Rubin was leaning too close and Utah was trying to work the handle to escape him. Mason stood outside the driver's door for thirty seconds longer. He remembered wanting to be wrong. That Rubin wasn't really about to force himself on his angel. But he was. After yanking the car door open and dragging Rubin out, he'd made short work of putting the guy on a clinic bed. Timberline didn't have a hospital. Rubin and his family left town a short time later.
"What can I getcha?"
Mason turned to see Pit Bull.
He handed the man the empty beer bottle Utah had claimed as a weapon. "We're going to get our friend and leave." He gestured to where the liquor-sodden couple now draped themselves over each other as they swayed to a beat only they could hear.
"The gent's bought all her drinks tonight. She doesn't seem to want to leave just yet."
Mason turned a warning look on the man. Utah slid her hand around his arm, giving him a jolt of awareness that threw him off for a second.
"It was nice of him to buy us drinks and water, but it's time for us to go," Utah said.
"What's the matter, we ain't good enough for ye?" Pit Bull asked.
"No, it's not that, it's just that we don't belong here."
Mason gritted his teeth. Even when she was a kid she always said the wrong thing, thinking it was the right thing.
"An' why would that be?"
Deciding to humor himself, Mason watched Utah open her mouth and shut it, as though just then realizing she'd been misunderstood--again. Affection for her rose up inside him, swimming around his heart. He lifted an eyebrow and fought a grin.
"Um, well, it's just that...it's late."
"It's nine o'clock."
"Yes...and that's when people start getting too drunk in places like this."
Pit Bull scowled.
"In a bar. Any bar," she quickly amended.
Pit Bull's anger grew more apparent in the gleam of his eyes. "Seems to me your friend doesn't agree with you."
"I'm not prejudiced, I just prefer a nicer atmosphere."
She was too honest for her own good. "All right," Mason moved so his body was between Utah and the angry bartender. "I'll go get her. If you or anybody else interferes, I'm going to make a mess. Understand?"
Pit Bull took in Mason's taller form and muscled chest and shoulders. Mason wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was the sheriff's son or his history with Army Special Operations that threatened the man more. He didn't care. He was getting out of here and these women home as quick as possible. Then maybe he'd sit in his dad's Jacuzzi and have a drink. If he couldn't use Utah to drown thoughts of his last mission, then maybe that would do the trick.
Pit Bull turned without responding and went out to the dance floor, where he spoke to the man dancing with Roanne. The man looked at Mason. Roanne looked dazed as Pit Bull guided her by the elbow, her disappointed dance partner ambling back to the pool table.
"Time to go, sweetie," Utah said, hooking her arm with Roanne's and sending Mason a look that reminded him of when she was younger. Ready. Time to go.
Recognizing his continued warming, irritation rushed to spare him. What had made him say he needed her, anyway? He still couldn't figure it out. He didn't need her. Not like that. As a distraction, maybe. Something to help him forget West Africa.
With one more glance behind them, he made sure Utah and Roanne left before him. Out in the street, he opened the locked truck with a remote key. Utah pushed Roanne inside.
Mason slid behind the wheel. The smell of alcohol filled the cab. Roanne leaned against him as he drove. With her head on his shoulder, it reminded him of when he took Utah to Steamboat that first time, and the ride home. After her two beers. She'd snuggled up to him like a warm, wet noodle.
Utah didn't say anything, but he felt her looking at him. He felt her thoughts, too. Her questions. Damn it.
At the house Roanne shared with her grandmother, Mason carried her into the house. She'd passed out on the way. Utah led him to the right bedroom and he lay her down. After checking Roanne's grandmother, she led him outside. Another long, uncomfortable silence passed on the way to her mother's house. She'd already told him she'd have Roanne get her car in the morning.
He pulled alongside the street and stopped, leaving the engine running. She didn't move to get out. He looked at her the same time she looked at him.
"You want to come in for coffee?" she asked.
A surge of heat came along with another that more resembled dread. She wasn't asking to get him in her bed. She was asking because she was curious what made him say he needed her. The thinking side of his brain told him to say no.
"Sure."
Inside Mamie's house, a sense of nostalgia stole over him. The furniture was different and the flooring had been redone. There were other updates, too. But the house was the same and it felt good to smile when he remembered the first time he picked up Utah for a real date.
"What?"
He turned to see her watching him, a small smile on her face that probably matched his. His responding laugh came out on one breath. "I was just thinking about that first time I took you to Lost Miner's Lake."
Her smile turned coy and she pivoted as though wanting to hide it from him. They'd spent more than one night making out at the lake, but that first night had started it all. Her mother had gone to Denver for the weekend. They hadn't wanted any adult finding out sweet Utah was getting romantic with a nineteen-year-old, much less a rebel--despite his chivalry with the girls--who always talked about leaving town. Back then he hadn't known exactly what he wanted out of life, just that it had to be exciting and something he could be proud to say he did. That night he came here to pick Utah up for a date, after kissing her at Burl's and finding it impossible to be near her without wanting to kiss her again, he hadn't gone home.
He followed her into the kitchen and watched her start to make coffee. The memory didn't leave him. It felt good remembering. He hadn't felt good in a long time. Seeing Utah again was like a drug, one that was going to help him. That's why he was probably going to override his dad's warning to stay away from her.
###
"Are you dating anyone else?"
"No," she'd answered, thrilled he'd asked.
"Good."
"Are you?"
He grinned. "No. Just you."
And her heart had gone aflutter. Mason. Her hero. The fire of her imagination. She woke from dreams of him ever since he'd kissed her at Burl's. And every time she was with him after that, she felt his desire matching her own. But they'd always been around other people, and couldn't do what they wanted most to do. Then he finally asked her to have dinner with him.
"Do you like going to places like this?"
She'd shrugged, looking around the mountaintop restaurant with a view of the Yampa Valley, feigning indifference. "Sure." She shouldn't have been surprised he wouldn't have taken her to just any restaurant. Hazie's was only open on the weekends in summer and the only way to get here was by gondola.
He'd grinned. "Should I have taken you somewhere nicer?"
She'd smiled her infatuation. "You could have taken me golfing and I would have been happy."
He'd chuckled, the heat in his eyes flaring. "Golfing?"
"It's fun."
"Golfing isn't fun, but I have to admit, being with you is."
"Yeah?" The youthful, innocent banter they'd shared seemed so adult to her then.
"Yeah." Except for the sound of his voice when he'd said that. Had she not been so naive, she would have recognized how his raging hormones had injected lusty innuendo in that one word.
The next time he took her on a date, he'd paid for a hot air balloon ride. Many other nights he'd taken her to Lost Miner Lake. Those were also the nights he'd stolen her heart. Starting with that first night, after dinner in Steamboat. Neither of them had wanted to say goodnight. Mason drove her to the lake and parked with a view of the moon shining over the water's calm surface.
"So, you'd really rather go golfing than have dinner at a nice restaurant?" He'd asked that night.
"I didn't say that. I said you could have taken me golfing. I could watch a game of golf and be happy."
When he saw she wasn't joking about golf, he'd taken a closer look at her.