by Baxter Black
T.A. considered it, then shook her head. “I don’t know, Al. I’ve got F. Rank’s goons on my trail. I don’t know if it’d be safe—for me or for you.”
“But like you said, if they knew where you wuz, they’da found you by now. Let’s have ourselves a good time, and then you can ride off into the sunset with Sherrill’s friend.”
T.A. gave the old man a weak smile. “Okay, Al, you win.”
The old man got up, set his coffee cup in the sink, and said, “It’s settled then. I’m goin’ to town. Call Sherrill and let her know. I’ll see you and Lick at the dance tonight. We’ll say good-bye then.”
“You going to walk to town?” she asked.
“Darlin’, I live outside. This ain’t nuthin’.”
T.A. rinsed the cups and stared out the front window at the old man till he disappeared up the road. She heard the shower shut off and she knocked on the bathroom door.
“Lick,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Did you want me to wash your clothes?”
“I guess so.”
“You’re welcome to lay down on my bed while you wait. You couldn’t have gotten much sleep on that couch.”
Was she making reference to where he’d spent the night for a reason? Lick wondered. Maybe she didn’t know. “Okay,” he said, “I am pretty sleepy.”
In five minutes he was under the covers in T.A.’s bedroom, sound asleep.
35
DECEMBER 6: LICK IN LOVE
Lick slept for three hours. When he woke, his head was buried in a pillow suffused with T.A.’s pheromones. These little atomic messengers caught a ride via his nostrils to the primitive receptors in his brain. They woke up before he did. Lick sat up in bed.
T.A. knocked. “Can I bring in your clothes?” she asked.
“Sure,” Lick answered.
She walked in carrying a tidy bundle. “I ironed your shirt but your jeans aren’t quite dry. I might’ve ruined your scarf. It must be fifty years old.”
She set them on a dresser by the door.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You want some coffee?”
“No,” he said, “I’m fine. Except . . . well, I wish you wouldn’t leave. You and I have just gotten acquainted, ya know.”
“I’m all mixed up,” she said. “I’m not going to be very good company for a long time. I’ve got a lot of self-examination to do.”
“Well, ’bout you wanting to wait till after you’re married, that’s fine. I hope you didn’t think that would affect my opinion of you. Making out doesn’t have to be all or nuthin’.”
“What brought that up?” she asked.
“I dunno, I got the impression that you thought I was bein’ too forward, maybe. Expecting too much, too soon, on our first date, so to speak.”
“Well, you were, weren’t you?” she said.
“Of course.” He smiled. “ But”—he raised his finger—“maybe we could establish some limits. Draw some lines, put up some Danger! No Tresspassing! signs.”
“Like where?” she asked.
“Come over here and I’ll show you.”
T.A. walked over to the bed.
“Limits shall be defined as no touching below here.” He placed a finger right in the middle of her chest. “Along a line extending east and west to here.” He traced a convex curve over each breast to the armpit. “Or below here.” He traced a straight line from the point of one hip to the point of the other.
“But,” he continued, pulling her closer to him, “this,” he said as he kissed her neck, “is legal, as are hands and toes and knees.”
“No knees,” she said. “I’m ticklish.”
“Okay, then, the small of your back.” He pulled her even closer and slipped his right hand under her sweater in the aforementioned lumbar area. A warning bell went off in her brain. His touch felt so good.
A surge of sexual anticipation coursed through her body. Oh, no, her brain sighed, but she let him pull her down anyway and take her in his arms. She melted. She was a basket case. Lick was calm waters in a stormy sea. He held her as they kissed deeply. The sweater scratched against his bare chest as they caressed each other. He fell back on the bed and she crawled on top of him. Passion ran through them like electric current. Each little touch seemed to generate sparks. They squeezed hard, then he pushed himself up on his elbows. Both were breathing heavily. He had a sleepy-eyed grin.
“You feel so good, Lick,” she said, her eyes misting. Her heart fluttered like a captured bird. Her skin felt like it was on fire. “I wish I could just stop the world right now, but I—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Shhhhh. Close your eyes. Relax. I’ll stand guard.”
Within two minutes she was breathing softly and drifting off to sleep. He gently maneuvered around until they were side by side, a blanket in between them, her head resting on his shoulder.
Lick got his passion under control. He hadn’t had anything more than superficial attraction to a woman since he’d divorced six years earlier. He’d been riding bulls professionally most of that time. The women in the collage of those he’d known were all nice, some were wonderful, some even loved him, but his heart was galvanized, protected, impenetrable. A reaction, psychologists would say, to an unhappy marriage, an insecurity, and an unwillingness to clean out his closet of hang-ups.
Even making the National Finals Rodeo two years ago and riding the unrideable Kamikaze didn’t open him up enough to feel love.
Last year he’d gone back on the circuit, but without his traveling buddy, Cody, it wasn’t as much fun. He’d had a lackluster year, didn’t make the Finals, and in April this year had quit riding bulls.
He went to a doctor, who told him he was depressed and prescribed some pills.
Lick never had the prescription filled. He eventually wound up in Idaho and started working for Lewis Ola. He hadn’t had so much as a date for six months. Mostly, he was in emotional hibernation.
Being in the proximity of Teddie Arizona for the last few days had slowly perked him up a little. Then the flirting and the tentative body contact began to stir him physically. Those feelings were exacerbated during the excitement of the chase two nights ago. Now, holding her as she slept, he began to feel a tightness in his chest, like something was trying to get out. Tears welled up in his eyes. Pressure mounted in the back of his head, a heaviness. It required a lot of willpower to push it all back down.
She’s leaving, he thought. I’m not going with her. But . . . so what? I mean, why should I worry that she’s leaving? I’m doin’ just fine out there on the Thumb. She’s got so many problems. I can’t deal with that. Besides, there’s Sherrill. I like her. She doesn’t expect anything. I don’t need the baggage.I can barely take care of myself.
He looked at Teddie Arizona sleeping, and a big ache rose in his heart.
Oh, no! Lick is falling in love! He doesn’t know it, of course. Here’s a man that hasn’t faced an honest feeling since his dog died fifteenyears ago.
The fact that the object of his affection has a cinder block in each hand and one foot off the end of the pier doesn’t compute in the equation of blind-can’t see your heart in front of your face-stumblinglove.
In Lick’s case, the combination to his lock has just clicked through the last tumbler, exposing an emotional eclipse that had been blocking out the sunlight of reason, revealing only the naked corona of pure-innocent-unquestioning-undefinable-intimate-angelic-lust-yearning-compassion, head-over-heels, dyed-in-the-wool forever-after
L is for the loins I’ve girded for thee,
O is for the Oh, My! in my heart.
V is for the button in your cleavage,
E is that I don’t know where to start!
As we draw back and take a long view from the ceiling, we see a man and a woman side by side on a bed in the guest bedroom of a small house on an Indian reservation on the Idaho-Nevada line.
She is sleeping, he is wide awake staring up at us. His expr
ession is one of agony. You can feel the heat from the conflict going on between his heart and his mind. But he shouldn’t worry, because he may have less influence on his own future than even he knows.
What has happened to Lick is a common occurrence in those rovers and wanderers who keep moving to stay ahead of emotional attachment. Because when the heart and soul finally get exhausted and give in to love, they fall hard. And usually, it’s with whoever is standing in front of them!
So it behooves the eligible rambler, cad or damsel, forever after, to watch where you’re standing.
T.A. slept for an hour, rose, kissed Lick on the cheek, and went to fetch his jeans.
“Sherrill is a sweetheart,” she told Lick when she returned. “I don’t want to involve her, so if you’ll play along with this brother-sister act, I’d appreciate it. When she gets home from work, we’re going over to the tribal store and pick up a couple things I need. Then we can grab a bite in a restaurant and go to some dance Al found out about. It means a lot to him that we all go, say our thank-yous to Sherrill for her hospitality. And then . . .” She paused.
“And then you leave,” finished Lick.
“Lick,” she consoled, “after it’s over, Vegas, I mean, maybe we could get together.”
Lick stared at her dejectedly. “T.A.,” he said, “I can’t let you go. I mean, I don’t want to let you go. I think I’m . . . I know you’ve got . . . Listen, whyn’t we just leave here right now? Tonight. You and I. We can move to Lubbock, or Rapid City, Lethbridge, who cares. It doesn’t matter. We just go. You can send them their money back. We’ll hide out until they cool down and leave you alone and we could . . . There’s absolutely no reason that makes any sense why you’d go back to Vegas. Come with me,” he pleaded. “You don’t have to love me, just let me . . .” He couldn’t quite say “love.” “Just give me a chance. I’m afraid if you leave, I’ll never see you again!”
It had been a long time since his soul had been so bare.
She was reluctant to hug him or even take his hand. He was opening and she was closing.
Being loved is a burden if you can’t reciprocate. He’s tossed her an egg and all she has to catch it with is a brick pot holder. It’s a messy situation.
“I’m going, Lick,” T.A. said firmly. “I’m sorry, I have to. But I do promise that I’ll call or write when the smoke clears, and maybe we can meet under better circumstances.” She paused and he remained silent. “Okay, then, for now,” she continued, “let’s you and I go to the dance, have a good time. I’m not sure I should ask, but do you have any money? I know you spent yours helpin’ me get away. I could lend you some.”
“Naw, I’ve got money,” he lied. “Got a little stashed in my boot, just in case.”
“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t believe him. “But I’m buyin’ supper tonight.” He nodded. He was now as messed up as she was. Funny what love can do. He would have been better off catching the chicken pox.
36
DECEMBER 6: THE MINER’S CLUB
When Teddie Arizona and Sherrill stepped inside the restaurant that adjoined the Miner’s Club in Mountain City that night, with Lick trailing behind, all eyes turned to the two women. Sherrill looked especially spiffy in her stonewashed jeans and black tee shirt with a picture of Geronimo on the front. Dangling turquoise earrings set off her raven hair.
T.A.’s trip to the tribal store had been fruitful. She’d replaced her baggy turtleneck sweater and hiking boots with more stylish attire: black jeans, a thin beaded belt, black Justin ropers on her feet, and an off-white long-sleeved knit pullover a size too small with a scoop neck. The three rhinestone stars emblazoned up each sleeve and the silver filigree earrings she wore combined geometrically with her starlight-bright eyes and made her look like a constellation.
Between Sherrill and T.A., Lick was taken aback and afront.
By the time the old man and Stone arrived, it had begun to snow.
“If this keeps up, I don’t know if Olivia’s gonna make it up from Elko,” said Sherrill, looking out the window at the flakes beating against the panes.
“I’ll worry about that when the time comes,” said T.A. “Worse comes to worst, I’ll make other arrangements tomorrow.”
“Okay, but you run into any trouble, you call me, okay?” Sherrill said. “You know my number, right?”
“I got it, Sherrill, thanks.” T.A. wasn’t planning on any trouble she couldn’t buy her way out of. She surreptitiously patted the cash in her pocket. She had nearly ten thousand dollars in her boots. One hundred hundred-dollar bills were split evenly into two envelopes and snuggled tightly beneath her tube socks next to her skin.
Stone headed into the barroom when it was time to eat. Sherrill snugged in right next to Lick at the table right at the edge of the dance floor. She’d insisted on him riding shotgun with her in the front seat on the ride over, too. Fair enough. It all worked with T.A.’s plan, even though Sherrill’s continual references to “your brother” and “your sister” irritated her.
Lick was aware of T.A. putting on a “happy face” for the occasion. He was trying not to wear T.A.’s rejection on his sleeve. The old man was oblivious to the electricity between Lick and the two women. Matter of fact, when the waitress gave Lick the old man’s venison burritos and Al got Lick’s enchiladas, extra spicy, they never even noticed. T.A. did, but decided to not say anything; she was dealing with her own demons.
The heavy air at the Miner’s Club was filled with laughter, music, conversation, and the aromatic mixture of workingmen, strong perfume, and beer. The smell of sagebrush, diesel, and leather that penetrated the pores of those who worked on the high desert rose from their bodies, hair, and clothing like steam off hot biscuits.
The bar was busy and a crowd was gathering. Al excused himself to join the crowd.
Dances were common at the Miner’s Club, since the nearest town with even a supermarket was Elko, eighty-three miles away. Although the dance wasn’t formal by any stretch of the imagination, the club was still a family place. Ranching families whose lives revolved around cows might be two months at a time between visits to a big town like Elko or Boise. At the Miner’s Club, you met with your neighbors like in any suburban neighborhood, except the distances were measured in miles, not blocks.
Most people knew each other through school functions or brandings or church. Children who were homeschooled or bused to schools with twelve kids in six grades played with other kids in the dining area or sat at tables playing cards. At dances on warm nights they played outside.
One lady in town ran a “nightcare” facility in her house for dance nights, taking in nursery school and grade school children. Wee babies accompanied their mothers into the bar. The sheriff’s deputies knew that the kids were under eighteen and that some of the guests were illegal aliens, but this was still the frontier, and sometimes the law accommodated the need for company.
The Miner’s Club was a place where you left your guns and your prejudices at the door. Single men, cowboys, miners, ranching families, Indian families, Mexican families, ranchers’ daughters, forest rangers, trappers, dropouts, and alcoholics all mingled. It was a place where loneliness could be fought off for an evening. An aura of civility reigned in this most uncivil of places. You were allowed to get drunk but not to turn into a foul-mouthed bully or bother the nice girls.
The Tindall Brothers had been playing their music at the Miner’s Club for as long as anyone could remember. They were from a family who ranched on the west side of the Bruneau Canyon and were the “local music.” Now their sons and daughters were playing. Terrible Tindall played the piano; Teresa, who’d married into the family, played the guitar and sang; Tinker played the drums; and Take Out played the fiddle and sang. Much of their music was fifties, sixties, and seventies hard-core country songs with a generous smattering of Bob Wills, Lefty Frizzell, and old-time fiddle. They sang anything from Jimmy Rogers, the Mississippi “Blue Yodeler,” to Merle Haggard. The one thing
all the songs had in common was that they were danceable. What the band lacked in accomplishment and harmony was compensated for in rhythm. Tinker could really pound the drums!
The band was on a two-foot riser at the far end of the room fronting the dance floor. The dance floor was usually full, the shot glasses tipsy, the dancers sweaty, and the conversation loud. A man was allowed to ask any woman to dance as long as he was on good behavior. She was allowed to decline. Sometimes a hard look from a daddy’s eye would prevent some rambunctious cowboy or borderline psycho from asking a sixteen-year-old high-desert debutante for a dance.
Lick was drinking Black Velvet and water. He was keeping up with the old man, which was dangerous because the old man was a professional and in shape. Somewhere around nine-thirty or ten, Lick switched to tequila. Not the good Reposada or Añejo, but the clear-varnish kind that the Mexicans use to blue gun barrels or put around the baseboards to poison ants. Lick was trying to drown any concern he had about T.A.’s departure. From a distance, one would think he was handling it well. At one point he found himself dancing with T.A.
“You okay?” she asked lightly.
“Yeah. Doin’ fine, havin’ a time, steppin’ out with my baby, and how, I don’t mean maybe,” he chimed.
She looked into his face and raised an eyebrow. He was no longer connected to reality. She guided him back to the table and Sherrill pulled him down beside her. “I’ll take care of him,” Sherrill said. T.A. turned and walked to the bathroom.
Sherrill put her arm through Lick’s and slid close. “Your sister seems nervous tonight, Lick.”
“Well, she’s planning to go back to her home, and maybe she’s thinking about missing us,” said Lick, carefully enunciating.
“That’s pretty lame,” observed Sherrill.
